I Don't Know What I Believe, But I Believe

I haven't written in several days because my feelings have been somewhat numb in regards to my brother's death and what has become of him. It's always a tricky subject-religion- whether to believe in God, a higher power or a place some of our population refers to as Heaven. I suppose I can say that I've always pondered what Heaven is but I've never deeply contemplated-and question-where it is. What does Charley do there? How does his soul expend energy and how does he thrive? How often does he tune into our human lives and is he truly, undeniable happy?
My philosophical mind dreams thoughts that sway my logic into thinking that there just HAS to be another dimension our soul returns to-one that offers comfort, serenity, education, peaceful livelihood and treasured memories of the lives we once lived here on this earth. My logic surrenders to the romance of light that is so intense we are immediately thankful for such an embrace and don't "miss" the human life, but instead continually celebrate the lives of those we love. We don't "wait" for others to join us because time isn't kept, we just are...as Mia so surely told me the other day when I told her her Nino is asleep. She argued, "No, Nino no sleeping. Nino no mimis. Nino is". I encouraged her sweetly mature selection of words and asked again where he is. She shrugged her shoulders matter of factly and said again, "Nino is". How can a two-year-old be so sure of what she is communicating to me and how can her brightly engaged mind process this thought? But she is right. Charley is. His soul is. He is neither here nor "up there". And why doe we say "up there" anyway when love exists "on earth as it is in heaven"?
What I believe is different from what another believes or what you even believe. Truth is, no one knows what happens to our souls once we pass on and leave behind the vessel of our body.
When I discovered my brother, I could only look at him as my brother and not as a body. His hands and hair were his still and his scent was his presence still, though I knew he was dead. I clung to the thought of how long he had been alone waiting for me and how lonely his soul must've felt. I punished myself for showing up mid-day rather than four hours before when I woke up to a terrifying feeling and the instant disconnect my heart cried for. I felt guilty for ignoring the persistent voice in my mind telling me to "go to the house" when it was the same voice asking me to go discover a love I lost. It wasn't until a month ago when I realized the guilt I'd been carrying was unnecessary- by the time I found my brother-even if I had stayed with him while the paramedics arrived-was no longer my brother; it was his body. My brother Charley was gone but it was his soul who waited for me and wrapped his energy around my body to brace me for the impact that I struggle with everyday. This impact hits me at random times even when I'm looking.

So today, on a Sunday when Jesus Christ rose from the dead, I visited my brother's grave and caressed his headstone as though I were running my hand over the soft skin of his face while I looked deeply into his eyes and hugged his heart, "I didn't go to church today, but it doesn't mean I don't believe. I will try to maintain peace in my heart today, Charley. I will try". And so I tried all day and I held it together, believing that my Charley dwells in a tranquility I can't reach...but exists.
When my brother died, I did as well. I died with him at a young age when life was in shambles and I could only turn to him for guidance. I died. And although I know now, today, that I can't bring Charley back to life, I can keep him alive and I can also allow others to help me bring myself back to life. I can.