Tennis with Steve Jobs.

I went to the beach with my sister on an annual ladies’ trip she takes with her church friends. I needed to get out of town. Even if it meant daily devotionals and sharing a bathroom with nine strangers. It would be my first night away from Bea. I was apprehensive. For about a minute.

What a thrill it was to pack for just me! Turns out, I need surprisingly little to get by. But the real joy, besides the bonding time with Gwyn and the free gelato samples at Grottos, was the two plus hours in the car each way. I’m not joking. I listened to satellite radio and laughed heartily at adult content. Not the Playboy station (Playmates on air = unnecessary), just raunchy talk shows. I cruised along, didn’t flinch at the constant cursing, and silently reclaimed a piece of my soul.

On the drive home, one show was discussing each individual’s ideal heaven in a matter-of-fact and silly way. One person mentioned seeing loved ones and another thought tennis and a pool would be nice because what do you do after the reunion, when all the hugging is over? I like tennis. Tennis would be good. My game should improve by the end of eternity.

I guess I always assumed/hoped that family would be there to greet me. Probably from all the near death-themed programming I seek out on tv. If someone’s coming back from the brink and talking about it, I’m tuning in!

(This, by the way, is the very last kind of show Jon would choose to watch. I know I’m always pointing out our many differences and, yes, here’s another. Crime shows, ghost shows, not his thing. If there's a corpse and/or a tunnel of white light, I'm transfixed!)

My grandmother spent many decades caring for my grandfather who rarely left the comfortable haven of his recliner. He would smoke a pipe and listen to the police scanner all day and night. And watch Wheel of Fortune.

Pop Pop and Granny, for whom Edy is named. 

With each year I age, her leisure dresses look more and more appealing.

When Pop Pop died, my grandmother’s health rapidly declined. She ended up in a nursing home because her body didn’t work, though her mind remained sharp. She read books all day. Tore through books. Book after book. Being stuck in that place without dementia must have been torture. My friend’s great grandmother was in a nursing home and she thought it was a beautiful and well-run cruise ship. Fun!

One evening I asked my father if he’d visited Granny that day. He hadn’t but his sister had and reported that my grandmother was possibly starting to lose it. I admit to feeling a sense of relief – for her sake. When my aunt asked my grandmother about her day, she casually mentioned that Pop Pop, who was long dead, had been by. Senility was knocking. Hopefully on the door of her cruise ship cabin!

She died later that night.

So maybe loved ones greet you, but then what? Personally, I think it’s something we can’t begin to wrap our simple minds around. I remember telling Gail that. When she was semi-conscious. Heaven is just answers. The absence of wonder and worry. You know everything and everything knows you. And it’s a good feeling. (Especially after cancer when we were constantly waiting for test results, hoping, praying, not knowing why or when or how.) 

I can’t imagine what our spirits do all day, or if “days” even exist, but as I type on my Mac and dream of the iPad Santa is bringing, I bet heaven is extra cool since Steve Jobs crossed over. 

What are your thoughts on the after-life?

P.S. I considered asking Lu and Edy their opinions on heaven, but decided against it. 

Lu would stress out, start asking me about the exact ways in which someone her age could die and the statistics involved. I would field each question carefully and dodge the stuff that’s impossible to grasp, as an adult let alone a child. She would seem okay, then bring it up again at least ten more times in the next three days and twenty additional times over the next year.

Edy would say it’s GREAT! Dance around a little to get the point across. Then request a snack and move on.