“We’re all hanging on by a hair.” — Thomas Merton, to novices at Abbey of Gethsemani

I just read a book titled, “In My Time of Dying: How I Came Face to Face with the Idea of an Afterlife.” It wasn’t until I finished it that I remembered that Decoration Day was this Monday and started thinking about how visiting the graves of my departed family and friends might mesh with it.

The book’s author, Sebastian Junger, put his life at risk for years as a combat reporter. And yet the closest he ever came to death was the summer of 2020 while spending a quiet afternoon at home, when crippled by abdominal pain, he was rushed to the hospital, where he began slipping away.

As blackness encroached, he was visited by his dead father. “It’s okay,” his father said. “There’s nothing to be scared of. I’ll take care of you.” That was the last thing Junger remembered until he came awake the next day and was told he had suffered a ruptured aneurysm … that he should not have survived.

This experience spurred Junger — a confirmed atheist raised by his physicist father to respect the empirical — to undertake a scientific, philosophical, and deeply personal examination of mortality and what happens after we die.

In exploring everything from religion to quantum physics, Junger posed afterlife possibilities that ranged from complete nothingness to becoming fully one with God.

I won’t go into his conclusions other than to say that I was left with a mixture of gratitude to be alive and the realization that my life can be strangely enriched by accepting the fact that I will someday die.

Also, a call to live fully with the question: “How do we begin to process the brutal fact that any of us might perish unexpectedly on what begins as an ordinary day?”

As Memorial Day approached, I also found myself pondering the question: “Given that I believe we that we do go on in some form after death — do my departed loved ones know it when I’m there visiting their graves?

Does their soul, their energy, their unique personality, their ‘Juju’ hang out by the headstone along with their decaying body or ashes?”

In searching the internet for answers, I came upon a site that described how to attach a medallion with a QR code to a headstone enabling visitors to: “Simply scan the QR code to access a tribute webpage filled with photos, videos, stories, and heartfelt messages.”

I like it. A person could even create their own personal QR code connected a website before they die and talk directly to the graveside visitors when they come by. Recite poetry. Tell a story. Share a joke. Invite them to join in a singalong.

I also came upon a site by Matt Frazer, a psychic medium. Although I’ve never consulted a medium, I’ve come to believe they are among those who can lift a corner of the veil and see into the world of those who have made the transition.

I was especially intrigued by a reading he did for a woman whose mom had been terrified of death and spent years carefully planning her burial. She wanted everything to be perfect. She researched cemeteries, selected the most peaceful plot by the water, even paid extra for a mausoleum so she wouldn’t be buried underground. She had statues placed, trees planted, and benches installed so her family could come and mourn her properly.

Before she died, she made her daughter promise: “Come visit me every week. Bring me fresh flowers. Clean my grave. Don’t forget me.”

Her daughter honored that promise, week after week, year after year, until she came to Fraser for a reading.

The moment her mom came through in spirit, she was radiating joy. She was free, light, and beaming with pride over her family. But then she said something that surprised them both:

“Tell her to stop wasting money on flowers. The cemetery is boring! I’m not at the cemetery,” she said. “I’m with you.”

If you have a story or photo for Little Balkans Chronicles, contact me at 620-704-1309 or jtknoll@swbell.net