Margie & Bean

My friend has left us. Rather suddenly, her time was up. Being extraordinarily efficient, she was able to pass on the rudiments of the finances, groceries, and general housekeeping to her husband before she passed away. She is not gone. Her voice lingers in my mind and on her answering machine, which threw me for a loop simply because it didn't faze me at all that I got her machine until I remembered that she's dead. I have conversations with her still in my head, which is good because she was as enlightened a person as I have ever met.
The irony is that she really worked on helping me to stay grounded in the present, in reality, in what was in front of me to do. She was clear about what my priorities should be, and listening to the voices of dead people did not make her list. Now I'm getting advice on how to be grounded from the afterlife... which Margie would not agree with. Oh well. She's dead. What's she going to do? I heard her voice as I sobbed late at night saying, "I'm fine. What you need to do is focus on your recovery program, your family, and your life." Which is true. So every time I try to do as she would have me and "get close to the idea that I'm dead" as she'd say, I can't. Because she is not dead. She can not be dead. People like her do not die. She's just moved. I'd like to think that my erstwhile cocker spaniel gave her quite a shock when she arrived in her new lodgings; she didn't think animals went to heaven. There are so many ways that scene could have played out and every one makes me chuckle. Example: Margie is sitting down in a heavenly chair and sighs a deeply peaceful sigh as she looks around at Heaven. "Well..." she says and then a slimy rubber ball is deposited in her lap and Bean is fidgeting impatiently in front of her before resorting to a short bark. "Huh..." Margie finishes.