My first reaction when I got the email was of gratitude that she had been released from this earthly prison and was reunited with her Lord. This was tinged with a bit of envy . . .
I called another friend to tell her and could hardly read the email, I was crying so hard.
What is this thing called grief? And why do we cry when we know we’ll see each other in a twinkling of an eye? When we know she’s in the celestial rose garden?
I haven’t seen her in over 10 years. I moved away. We lost touch. She pioneered to Kuwait. I didn’t feel bad when she pioneered, so why do I cry when she’s pioneered to the ‘Abhá Kingdom?
And I remember ‘Abdul-Bahá’s lament to Thomas Breakwell, a man he’d only met a short time before his death. It goes on for pages . . .
Aren’t we lucky to have ‘Abdul-Bahá as our Exemplar?!
A friend asked: “How should one look forward to death?” He answered: “How does one look forward to the goal of any journey? With hope and with expectation. It is even so with the end of this earthly journey. In the next world, man will find himself freed from many of the disabilities under which he now suffers. Those who have passed on through death, have a sphere of their own. It is not removed from ours; their work, the work of the Kingdom, is ours; but it is sanctified from what we call ‘time and place.’ Time with us is measured by the sun. When there is no more sunrise, and no more sunset, that kind of time does not exist for man. Those who have ascended have different attributes from those who are still on earth, yet there is no real separation.
(‘Abdu’l-Bahá in London, p. 95)