The Afterlife of Billy Fingers: How My Bad-Boy Brother Proved to Me There's Life After Death by Annie Kagan
Authors: Annie Kagan
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said. I'm sure she thought I was living in some kind of Billy fantasyland that made the cold hard truth of his death even more painful. I understood, but now I sensed she'd be receptive.
When we got back to the apartment, I read her Billy's notes about the pearl and the oyster. My mother scrunched up her forehead and was quiet for a minute. Then she burst out laughing.
“All this time I was just humoring you when I said I believed Billy talks to you. But now, oh my God, I have to believe it!”
My mother opened her turquoise jewel box and handed me a string of pink baby pearls. “Why wait until I'm not around anymore. Then I'll never see you wear them.”
After our visit, my mother's melancholy began to lift. She confided that sometimes when she woke up she thought she felt Billy's spirit around, healing her and helping her get well.
“Even though the pain of losing Bill was like no other I felt in my life,” my mother said, “God meant for me to know him and love him, I am sure of that.”
TWENTY
Book of Life
O n a dreamy mid-August morning, before dawn . . .
It's a beautiful day. Why not bring the red notebook and join me at the beach?
When I got there, the sky's pink and orange streaks gave way to Billy's ethereal white-robed glory.
It's a good day where you are, my sister. Every day's a good day here, although there really aren't days and nights. But I don't miss them. I don't miss a thing.
One of the things I certainly don't miss is being concerned about the way I look. Here, I just look like myself and that's great. There are no pretensions or efforts to appear any which way. I just radiate, which is effortless. Since I'm made of light, I don't have organs or blood or anything like that. No knee problems, no liver problems, no drug problems, no weight problems. I don't have a home either, except my light body.
Sometimes I leave my light body and go back to becoming the Universe; I let go and do some more blending into the cosmic energy field. I guess you could say it's a bit like human sleeping because they're both about letting go. But really there's no comparison,because becoming the Universe is sheer ecstasy and sleeping is hit or miss.
On earth, you need day and night, sleeping and waking, birth and death. You need to know that today may have been difficult, but tomorrow could be better. You may have messed the day up, or the day may have messed you up, but you can go to sleep and wake up, and maybe feel like you have a fresh start.
Death gives you a fresh start just like sleep does. We don't usually think of death as a start, but that's what it is. Whatever so-called mistakes you've made, it doesn't matter now, because there's always another chance, another lifetime even, to try something different. And don't worry. So-called mistakes are okay. They're just part of the deal.
After you're dead, everything is actually more alive. Take, for instance, my Book of Life, given to me by Joseph, that dazzling silver-haired man I met under the blue-white sphere. Although I'm calling it a book, it doesn't have pages and words. It's more like an oscillating rainbow. I'm calling it a book because that implies a gathering together of information. Also, Book of Life has a nice ring to it.
Before each soul comes to earth, its own personal edition of the Book of Life is written. Life on your planet is about dramas that change you. Isn't it funny that most people are scared of change, when changing is the double fudge frosting on top of the cake of life?
And although much of your life is planned out, there's a lot of freedom inside that plan. The circumstances arelike lines in a kid's coloring book, but instead of ink the lines are penciled in; they're erasable. As you color in the spaces, you influence the lines.
Reading my Book of Life is different from watching my hologram. There was no analyzing going on then. Now, Joseph and I are looking at how the particular colors I chose shaped my life.
Joseph looks
When we got back to the apartment, I read her Billy's notes about the pearl and the oyster. My mother scrunched up her forehead and was quiet for a minute. Then she burst out laughing.
“All this time I was just humoring you when I said I believed Billy talks to you. But now, oh my God, I have to believe it!”
My mother opened her turquoise jewel box and handed me a string of pink baby pearls. “Why wait until I'm not around anymore. Then I'll never see you wear them.”
After our visit, my mother's melancholy began to lift. She confided that sometimes when she woke up she thought she felt Billy's spirit around, healing her and helping her get well.
“Even though the pain of losing Bill was like no other I felt in my life,” my mother said, “God meant for me to know him and love him, I am sure of that.”
TWENTY
Book of Life
O n a dreamy mid-August morning, before dawn . . .
It's a beautiful day. Why not bring the red notebook and join me at the beach?
When I got there, the sky's pink and orange streaks gave way to Billy's ethereal white-robed glory.
It's a good day where you are, my sister. Every day's a good day here, although there really aren't days and nights. But I don't miss them. I don't miss a thing.
One of the things I certainly don't miss is being concerned about the way I look. Here, I just look like myself and that's great. There are no pretensions or efforts to appear any which way. I just radiate, which is effortless. Since I'm made of light, I don't have organs or blood or anything like that. No knee problems, no liver problems, no drug problems, no weight problems. I don't have a home either, except my light body.
Sometimes I leave my light body and go back to becoming the Universe; I let go and do some more blending into the cosmic energy field. I guess you could say it's a bit like human sleeping because they're both about letting go. But really there's no comparison,because becoming the Universe is sheer ecstasy and sleeping is hit or miss.
On earth, you need day and night, sleeping and waking, birth and death. You need to know that today may have been difficult, but tomorrow could be better. You may have messed the day up, or the day may have messed you up, but you can go to sleep and wake up, and maybe feel like you have a fresh start.
Death gives you a fresh start just like sleep does. We don't usually think of death as a start, but that's what it is. Whatever so-called mistakes you've made, it doesn't matter now, because there's always another chance, another lifetime even, to try something different. And don't worry. So-called mistakes are okay. They're just part of the deal.
After you're dead, everything is actually more alive. Take, for instance, my Book of Life, given to me by Joseph, that dazzling silver-haired man I met under the blue-white sphere. Although I'm calling it a book, it doesn't have pages and words. It's more like an oscillating rainbow. I'm calling it a book because that implies a gathering together of information. Also, Book of Life has a nice ring to it.
Before each soul comes to earth, its own personal edition of the Book of Life is written. Life on your planet is about dramas that change you. Isn't it funny that most people are scared of change, when changing is the double fudge frosting on top of the cake of life?
And although much of your life is planned out, there's a lot of freedom inside that plan. The circumstances arelike lines in a kid's coloring book, but instead of ink the lines are penciled in; they're erasable. As you color in the spaces, you influence the lines.
Reading my Book of Life is different from watching my hologram. There was no analyzing going on then. Now, Joseph and I are looking at how the particular colors I chose shaped my life.
Joseph looks
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