Next Life

When Sarah first died, I often heard the cliche that “the second year is harder than the first.” This refers to grief, not toddlers. It was hard for me to understand why that would be, and people had a hard time unpacking any explanation. I’ve come to think it’s because the first year is all about wondering where your child is, and waiting with the non-logical, nonspeaking “left side” of your brain for your child to return. If you don’t know where your child is, then there’s an expectation that the child is returning, right? At least for that primitive part of you that doesn’t think rationally. It’s somehow keeping hope alive.

In this second year, all parts of your brain have lost the battle and they know dead is dead. There’s just a void. Instead of wondering where she is, I wonder where I am. What is my life anymore? When will I return?

For some reason going to sleep seems the hardest time. When my mind starts to wander and I try to relax, I end up crying and having vague, strange quandaries that just tear me apart. Do the dead still love the living? Is Sarah’s love for me eternal? Does she still love me? I couldn’t sleep last night because I kept worrying about that.

I feel like a love glutton lately. Everyone must love and like me. Don’t ever stop.

I got up and Googled “Do dead people still love their families?” I scrolled through the usual ads for psychics and found a post that said that according to the philosophy of reincarnation, people who love us strongly appear in our next lives over and over with us, not in the same roles, but always in some important role, close to us. That’s comforting. Sarah could be in my next life as a good friend or boss or someone else.