From Behind the Cosmic Curtain

To be honest, I’m really not sure how to write about what happened last Monday.

I’m still trying to sort out my feelings. At first I was scared and confused. Then I was elated. On Tuesday, I was deeply resentful and feeling emotionally jerked all around. Ultimately, I was angry. I feel that I’ve been standing on sand that shifts every time a wave moves over me.

It’s complicated, as they say.

I can start with what happened almost two years ago when someone I’d known for about twenty five years called to say she only had a few months to live. Though starting at that point would be telling the story in chronological order, and I don’t feel it’s the right place to begin.

I will begin with what occurred last Monday. I was in the kitchen, excited to use the new griddle I got for my birthday, when my cell phone rang. I looked at the screen and it had the name of my deceased friend. It’s amazing how the mind can scroll through multiple thoughts in a matter of a second. First, I thought it had to be a mistake, as if I was reading the name wrong without my glasses. Then, I thought maybe there was actually a way to make a call from heaven. Then I figured it must be her husband, using her phone to to inform me of a long overdue memorial service or such.

When I answered, my friend’s familiar voice announced, “I’m not dead!”

I was surprised of course, but mostly I was so happy to hear she was still here on planet earth. In fact I was ecstatic ! I asked her what happened after she called me in 2023 to tell me the dire prognosis the doctors gave her. She filled me in. I shared with her that, because I hadn't heard from her family, I assumed she was gone.

But now, here she was on the other end of the phone, talking to me and laughing. Laughing! How dare she, I thought! I wanted to ask why the hell hadn’t she called me sooner to say that she hadn’t died, that she was alive - though not all that well - but I didn’t ask. I knew it would seem like I was missing the point.

Throughout 2024, I periodically texted her, called her, and emailed her, but she never answered. I searched online for an obituary. When I couldn’t find one, I contacted her daughter the only way I was able to - on LinkedIn - to see if she would tell me if and when her mother had passed away. Her daughter never answered me. I was left to assume - given her telling me that she wasn’t long for this world - that she was gone, even without an obit to testify to the fact.

I cried. I mourned her death. I told multiple people that she was dead, and that I was hopelessly sad. People understood, they commiserated.

Let me stop here to fill in a missing piece. And it’s a rather big piece. My “friend” was also my long-time, periodic therapist. I had revealed to her all the good, bad, and ugly of my life. She helped me through difficult moments, and I always felt that I had someone I could count on to help me sort out my often mixed emotions on dozens of issues. I trusted her. Over the years I had taken a few breaks from therapy, but with her gone, I felt there was a big, permanent hole in my life.

It might sound like I’m being delusional to assume that she was a friend. Yes, we had started in the usual way, patient and therapist, but over time, she shared things about her life and I felt like I knew her as a person and not just as a psychologist.

When her illness began to interfere with her ability to listen and give sound feedback, she eventually asked me if I had noticed. She told me that I’m the only person she trusted enough to tell her the truth. This felt like both an acknowledgment and a heavy weight. She thanked me for my honesty, for “being wise” and said that by telling her I definitely noticed things were not as they’d been, I gave her “such a gift.” She decided to end her practice.

After talking with her last week, I know she had many, many more pressing matters in her life than letting me know that she hadn’t died. Still, I'd be lying if I didn't admit that I wished she had called sooner. Knowing would have saved me from so much heartache, and my grieving a fictitious death.

I’m over feeling angry. I didn’t miss the entire point of her call last week - I’m happy she’s alive.

Surprisingly, though, my biggest take-away from the whole experience is that death now feels like something less dramatic - more like an act where we merely slip behind the other side of the cosmic curtain, and that's such a gift.