The Lighthouse By Rainbow Bridge

Glimpses of Eternity

2011-02-15T13:07:00.000-08:00

Dr. Raymond Moody is most famous for his 1975 book, Life After Life, which made him the leading expert on near death experiences.

His new book, Glimpses of Eternity (Guideposts, 2010; subtitled "Sharing a Loved One's Passage from This Life to the Next"), is about what he calls "shared death experiences." He first heard of one of these in medical school in 1972, when one of the professors told him what she'd experienced when her mother died. But it wasn't until the mid-1980s that he started hearing of more of them -- first from doctors and nurses, telling him about "curious events" that took place at deathbeds, and then later from more and more people outside the medical profession (something he attributed in an interview to hospice care allowing family members to be with their loved ones more often then, following a period when it wasn't unusual for doctors and nurses to ask family members to leave when a patient was dying).

And in 1994 he had a shared death experience of his own, when his mother died, and he and his wife and his two sisters and their husbands were all with her:

And as we waited, it happened to us: a shared death experience. As we held hands around the bed, the room seemed to change shape and four of the six of us felt as though we were being lifted off the ground. I had the feeling that the room had turned into the shape of an hourglass. I felt a strong pull, like a riptide that was pulling me out to sea, only the pull was upward.

"Look," said my sister, pointing to a spot at the end of the bed. "Dad's here! He's come back to get her!"

Everyone there reported later that the light in the room changed to a soft and fuzzy texture. It was like looking at light in a swimming pool at night.

As all of this took place, there was great joy in the room. We all knew something incredible had happened to all of us as our mother died. It was as though the fabric of the universe had torn and for just a moment we felt the energy of that place called heaven.

About this time, Moody says, he started being asked about shared death experiences, almost as often as he was asked about near death experiences. And as an experiment, he started asking his lecture audiences at conferences how many had had similar experiences, which he'd first describe briefly. "To my surprise," he writes, "anywhere from 5 to 10 percent of every audience would hold up their hands."

So he started devoting even more time to collecting, studying and analyzing shared death experiences.

He describes seven elements typical of shared death experiences -- though he also emphasizes that none of the shared death experiences he's studied contain all seven (he writes at the end of the chapter on these elements that no shared death account contained just one element, either; most contained several).

1) Change of geometry. This is one element that apparently is unique to shared death experiences, and not encountered in near death experiences. "For many," he writes, "this change of geometry means that the room simply seems to change shape. Others have said that the room changes shape but also opens into an 'alternate realty' that is described in various ways."

2) Mystical light. Sometimes this light, which conveys peace and love and wisdom, and also seems to have complexity and depth, fills the room. In other shared death experiences, witnesses tell of seeing the dying person's eyes lighting up, or their entire body taking on a translucent glow.

3) Music and musical sounds. These may be heard by the person who's dying as well as others present, sometimes a number of people.

4) Out-of-body experience. Moody says this is "a fairly common element in shared death experiences. During this phenomenon, a person has a strong sense that they have moved to a position from which they can observe their own physical body and all that is around it."

5) Co-living a life review. People who've had near death experiences often report life reviews. Moody found that many of those who have had shared death experiences found themselves sharing the life review of the person who was dying, in some cases becoming aware of parts of their life or people they knew that hadn't been known to them before.

6) Encountering otherworldly or "heavenly" realms. This is one of the most common elements of near death experiences, and also a common element of shared death experiences.

7) Mist at death. Moody writes that ever since he began to study death, he'd started hearing some accounts of people seeing a mist emitted from the body of a dying person -- sometimes formess, other times taking a human shape, before drifting upward and disappearing. Like the mystical light, the mist sometimes seems to have a complexity and depth. Moody admits he doesn't know what to interpret these accounts, but he doesn't dismiss this as an hallucination, especially since it's seen just as the loved one dies.

Moody writes that he's often been asked if people have to be religious to have these experiences. He says that based on his studies, he feels "confident that the experiences of believes and non-believers are essentially the same; only the interpretations may differ." He points out that this is also true of near death experiences.

On the other hand, although a particular belief system is not necessary to have a shared death experience, the experience itself is transformative -- which is also true of near death experiences.

This book, like Dr. Moody's other books, offers fascinating information -- and hope.

A book about hope, from an expert on death and grief

2011-01-06T06:57:00.000-08:00

It often comforts people who've lost a loved one to hear about ADCs, or after-death communications -- the direct, unmediated communications from those on the other side to those still here.

That includes a particular type of ADC called deathbed visions (or DBVs). This type of ADC is specifically to comfort someone who will be crossing over soon, but these visions can also, if understood by the people who are aware of what the dying person is experiencing, offer comfort to them.

The comfort of knowing that we don't cross over alone. That loved ones are there, waiting to welcome us home to Heaven.

Pets as well as humans apparently experience these visions. I've heard a number of stories over the years of dying pets who acted as if they were watching, and welcoming, someone others couldn't see.

And stories about dying people seeing loved ones on the other side seem to be as old as humankind.

David Kessler, who co-authored two bestsellers with Elisabeth Kubler-Ross, and whose first book about hospice care was praised by Mother Teresa, has written a book about deathbed visions, Visions, Trips, and Crowded Rooms: Who and What You See Before You Die.

Kessler explains in the introduction how much he was affected by the impact such a vision had on his dying father, who had been optimistic all his life but who had been overcome by sadness before the vision:

My father was very down for the next few days. But then one morning he told me that my mother, his wife, had come to him the night before. "I was looking at all I was losing, and I'd forgotten that I was going to be with her again. I'm going to see her soon," he said, He looked at me as if he realized I would still remain here. Then he added, "We'll be there waiting for you." Over the next two days, his demeanor changed dramatically. He had gone from a hopeless dying man with only death in front of him to a hopeful man who was going to be reunited with the love of his life. My father lived with hope...and also died with it.

As someone who has spent most of my life writing, teaching, and working with the dying, I can't prove to you that my father's vision was real. I can only talk about my experience as a son and about countless other occurrences that take place every day. I used to believe that the only thing we needed to alleviate was the suffering of the dying by providing good pain management and symptom control. I know now that we have more than opiates for pain, and we have more than anti-anxiety medication to combat fear and distress. We have the "who" and "what" we see before we die, which is perhaps the greatest comfort to the dying.

My wish is that you'll find the hope that my father did - the hope I felt after hearing his story. This is the same hope that so many patients and family members feel when they've experienced these visions.

So that is what this book is about: hope. Hope that there is more. Hope that we don't watch each other slowly die and then simply wait for our own deaths. We want to hope that there is a heaven, that some part of us doesn't die, so we can be reunited with those we love and maybe even with religious figures who've inspired us in our lives.

Kessler's book focuses on these visions of loved ones (and in some cases religious figures) seen by the dying, on the common deathbed experience of getting ready for a trip (always described as a physical journey they have to make), and on another common deathbed experience (which I hadn't heard of previously) of describing their room as being "crowded" by people others can't see (apparently the people whose lives they've touched who have already crossed over).

Kessler's book is remarkable in using the accounts of health care professionals describing the experiences of their patients and their own loved ones. The section on "Visions of the Dying, Part I" includes accounts from doctors and nurses, while "Visions of the Dying, Part II" consists of accounts from mental health professionals, professional counselors.

Kessler said in his introduction that he "can't prove" that his father's vision of the spirit of his mother was real. But the accounts in his book do include two deathbed visions in which the dying person saw the spirit of a person they weren't aware had died, someone they'd had every reason to believe was still alive. People whom their own family members, at the bedside of the dying person, believed were still alive -- not learning until afterward that the person whose spirit was so unexpectedly seen had in fact died by then. Such accounts are probably the strongest evidence that these deathbed visions are real experiences, not hallucinations.

In his Epilogue, Kessler cites a study by the palliative-care team at Camden Primary Care Trust in London, which found that these experiences (which they called DBP or deathbed phenomena) are "an important part of their dying process" for the people having them. The pilot study also showed that these experiences aren't drug-induced, and that patients would rather talk to nurses than doctors about their dying experiences, and that these experiences are underreported because patients and their families are worried about a negative reaction from health care professionals, who Kessler hopes will become more educated about these phenomena.

Valuing Silliness, Sentiment and Science

2010-12-16T09:34:00.000-08:00

You'll find all three on our grief support site, especially on our boards.

Let's start with the most serious one first.

Science: It helps to have information about research on grief and emotional states. And since so many of our members have other pets, information on pet care and health is important. We're also very interested in research that supports a belief in an afterlife we share with our pets.

Sentiment: We're unabashedly sentimental. We create a safe place for people who miss the pets they've lost to grieve openly. We love our pets, and we also know that people who try to suppress their feelings about losing their pets (especially out of fear of criticism from people who don't understand) will be postponing grieving but not escaping it completely -- and the result of suppressing that grief can be emotional and physical health problems later. We're also very sentimental about the pets still with us, sharing both joys and worries, asking for prayers for them when they're ill, and celebrating every new adoption in our online family.

Silliness: How do you cope with life without humor? How do you relieve stress without some silliness to offset it? We believe you can't, so we welcome silly pet pics, whether from our own members or from a site such as the Lolcats site, ICanHasCheezburger. We post jokes, and we talk about silly subjects. And when we picture our pets in heaven, we may imagine them having parties and doing other things that they didn't do here. That's fine -- it helps us heal. And who can say that our pets aren't having those parties we love to picture?

Frosty at a frosty window - haiku & pic

2010-12-14T09:28:00.000-08:00

Frost on the window
Frosty gazes at crystals
Warm against the cold

Frosty has been at Rainbow Bridge more than two years now, but I'm missing my little lynxpoint this morning. I wrote a haiku for her while thinking of this old photo, taken on January 14, 2005.

Top 10 Signs A Cat Is Subbing For Santa

2010-12-09T06:41:00.000-08:00

Top 10 Signs A Cat Is Subbing For Santa:

10) Telltale bits of catnip on the fake beard.
9) Real whiskers above fake beard oddly long and skimpy.
8) All furniture given at Christmas mysteriously labeled "Scratching Post."
7) More frequent litter box changes blamed on reindeer.
6) Elves making only cat toys.
5) All dogs receive empty stockings marked "Naughty, naughty, naughty."
4) Reindeer renamed after favorite cat food brands.
3) Cat door added to chimney.
2) Milk left for Santa is gone, but cookies are left behind with form letter requesting tuna next year.

And the #1 sign a cat is subbing for Santa:

1) After the presents are all delivered, Santa HAS to play in the empty bag.

- Cindy Morgan (SinbadsMom), 2003

I've also posted this in a topic at Lighthouse Beacon.

Our Christmas Page

2010-12-09T06:35:00.000-08:00

The Night Before Christmas At Rainbow Bridge

Our New Website

2010-11-19T17:31:00.000-08:00

The Lighthouse - for pet loss grief support

Evidence of the Afterlife

2010-11-01T18:11:00.000-07:00

This time of year -- the end of October and beginning of November -- has long been marked by festivals of the dead in many cultures around the world.

But in a grief support group, the subject of death and spirits and the afterlife is a daily one.

As I wrote in a post at the Beacon a few years ago:

Support is invaluable after a loss. And finding ways to honor and remember your loved one is also very important.

But what I think we all want most is some assurance that this is only a temporary separation and we will see our loved ones again, including the animals we love.

Some people find that assurance through religious faith. And there are scriptures and other religious teachings to support that belief. Over the years, though, I've met some people who'd unfortunately had others of their religious faith insist to them (whether through well-intended ignorance or a dislike of the importance of pets in other people's lives) that pets do not go to heaven. Fortunately, in all the cases I'm aware of, we were able to reassure those people that they will see their pets again, and that not everyone who shared their religious belief agreed with whoever had ignorantly tried to dispel their hope of eventual reunions with their pets on the other side.

But you don't need any religious faith to believe in an afterlife and reunions with your loved ones, including your pets.

And no one who joins our community has to share any of our other members' beliefs, whether religious beliefs or a belief in an afterlife. We don't care -- and I especially don't care -- whether you're Christian, Jewish, Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, Wiccan, or a member of any other religion or belief system. (I personally don't believe God -- or the Light, or Source, or whatever name you choose -- cares, either. I believe what matters is love, which should be shown toward all of Creation, and kindness, which is love in action.)

Skeptics are also welcome. But we'll tell you about personal experiences that have led us to believe, independently of what any religious faith might say, that our pets' spirits, like ours, live on.

Those experiences fall into two groups, ADCs or after death communications, and NDEs or near-death experiences. (ADCs would also include the experiences mediums themselves have before they relay information to others, but the term ADC refers to unmediated communications.)

There have been a number of valuable studies of these types of experiences.

One researcher, Dr. Jeffrey Long, an oncologist, has studied both ADCs and NDEs.

He had his wife Jody, an attorney, have set up very interesting websites to help their research. I've been directing people to their website on ADCs, the After Death Communication Research Foundation, since I first saw it in 2003. The ADC stories there include some about pets, such as this one:

Rhonda H's ADCs

Their Near Death Experience Research Foundation website also has personal accounts of experiences involving pets who had crossed over before that person had the NDE, like these:

Johnathon's NDE

Wayne R's NDE

Dr. Long has written a book based on that NDE research.

Evidence of the Afterlife: The Science of Near-Death Experiences lays out nine lines of evidence from NDEs that he considers proof of the afterlife.

You can read more about his book and the nine lines of evidence on this page:

Evidence of the Afterlife:
The Science of Near-Death Experiences

Honoring our pets by helping others

2010-10-23T09:11:00.000-07:00

We all want to honor the pets we've lost and miss. And there are so many ways to honor them, as I've learned over the years. Pets can be memorialized through words, photos (or slide shows or videos), websites, music, artwork of all types, and outdoor memorials from gravestones to memorial gardens.

All these memorials honor them and help us heal.

But one of the most important ways we can honor our pets -- the one which I believe brings the most healing -- is by helping others.

Other people, and other animals.

These are living memorials, and never-ending memorials, because the care and love given will often be extended to others by those who have been helped, whether it's a rescued animal bringing blessings of love and companionship to a new forever family, or a person saved from the depths of despair reaching out with kindness and sympathy to others who are grieving.

Like ripples spreading out from a pebble tossed into a pond, the effect of donating time or money to a shelter, or offering other people support in a pet loss grief support group, can extend far beyond that first helpful effect.

It's important to remind our members of that. Those kind actions and words can go on helping, long afterward.

I believe this is especially true with online support groups, where people can find comfort from what others wrote even if years have passed since those messages were posted, whether the person who posted the message was sharing similar feelings of loss or offering words of reassurance and hope. Those words are always fresh, the first time they're read by someone new. They can have the same impact they had on the day they were posted.

When we help others, whether animals or humans, we're paying it forward, after having had our own lives brightened immeasurably by our pets' unconditional love for us.

And sharing the love we were blessed to receive brings true healing. Trying to help someone else when you're hurting yourself, grieving deeply, may seem difficult at first, almost impossible. But you'll find if you reach out that you'll become stronger by helping others no matter how weak and helpless your loss might have you feeling now. You'll lift yourself up, as you lift others up.

The effects of that kindness will be much wider-reaching than you'll ever know, and much more appreciated.

Especially by your loved ones on the other side, who I believe will see just how much good you've done, and how far those ripples of care and compassion are reaching, as you honor them by helping others.

Cindy Morgan (SinbadsMom)

Facebook

2010-10-23T09:07:00.000-07:00

We have a Facebook page now for The Lighthouse for pet loss grief support. Please join us!

Changes

2010-10-23T09:02:00.000-07:00

I've deleted a detailed and complicated blog entry from last year because it's no longer relevant. We've simplified our site, including the forum structure at Lighthouse Beacon.

To the Lighthouse by Rainbow Bridge

2008-02-23T15:02:00.000-08:00

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge...

So begins the Rainbow Bridge story, which my sister reminded me of with a casual remark about Rainbow Bridge, the day my 16-year-old cat, Sinbad, had to be set free from her suffering. After nearly 17 years in which Sinbad had been a constant presence in my life, I was devastated by the loss. My sister's comment had reminded me that I'd read a story about Rainbow Bridge years earlier, on a mailing list. So the next morning I searched for the story online, wondering if I'd be able to find it at all...and finding it on countless sites.

One of them was a large pet loss site, where I also checked out the message board. I just read messages at first and then, 5 years ago today -- 10 days after I'd lost Sinbad -- I registered and posted my first message there.

I'd never been in a support group before, but I really needed the support. I was discovering, as so many people who lose beloved pets discover, that all too many of the people I knew outside that support group simply didn't understand how much it could hurt to lose a pet. All of us encounter people who'll say, "Get over it -- it was just a pet." Grieving is difficult enough without having to deal with people who belittle the pain you feel. Fortunately, at the many pet loss sites on the Net, people do understand. And with that understanding, that freedom to talk about my feelings, I started to heal.

A couple of months later I became a moderator on that board, and I was a moderator there until leaving in July of 2006. I loved helping people cope with losses and begin to heal. It was a way to honor Sinbad (as my SinbadsMom name did), and a way to repay the community for the help I'd received. During those three years I spent thousands of hours helping out on the board, and posted several thousand messages. I left due to a disagreement with the site owner over his plans for the board. I had not stopped caring about the people there, but it was time to move on.

I'd had no plans to create my own grief support site, but within hours I started hearing from almost everyone who knew that I'd left that I should set up another board.

So our first message board, The Lighthouse, was set up and opened a few weeks later. A few months later we had a Lighthouse website, which was just a single page at first. More pages, including memorial pages, were added later.

And then in June of last year we opened our second board, Lighthouse Beacon, which unlike the original board -- which can't be read until you register -- can be read by anyone.

A year and a half after its launch, our larger board has hundreds of members who've posted over 65,000 messages.

With the new site, I was able to expand upon some ideas I'd originally had while moderating the other board. Instead of single topics for sharing photos of our Bridgekids (our pets at Rainbow Bridge) and Earthkids (the pets still with us), or sharing our funniest and happiest memories (so important on a grief support board), or sharing stories about signs and visits from our Bridgekids, we have forums on these subjects, encouraging lots of topics about them. In fact, there are two forums in the section about signs and visits (which I'd learned are often called ADCs or after death communications), one for discussing ADCs in general and the other for posting personal stories.

I'd realized while moderating the other board that many people who saw themselves as "oldtimers" there -- and that sometimes meant people who'd been there only a few months -- often felt that even when they needed support, they shouldn't ask for it when newcomers needed help. I always encouraged them to ask for support anyway, but they often felt that wouldn't be appropriate. So at the Lighthouse we have a forum for ongoing support (which we all need) in addition to the forum for newcomers and those suffering new losses.

Posts about Bridgedays (the days our pets crossed over), birthdays, and other special days are important, and we have a forum just for those posts.

We have separate forums for pet care, always an important subject on pet loss boards, and for the rescuers on the board. So many people who love pets -- even if they haven't formally dedicated much of their time, energy and money to rescuing pets and other animals -- often find themselves rescuing animals who need their help.

We have a prayer request forum so those requests don't become scattered through other messages and pushed back, out of sight.

We have forums for talking about our Earthkids, the pets still with us, and for posting artwork and memorials for our Bridgekids. We encourage people to use their creativity, since it can help so much in healing.

And we have one section for discussing the environment that we and the animals we love have to survive in, and that we humans have to protect as much as possible.

There are forums for lighter messages, too. We believe humor has a place in healing and should never be discouraged.

The Lighthouse is a community -- warm, welcoming, and spontaneous. We believe very strongly in keeping lines of communication open between our members, and they also know I want to hear from them, and that I'll listen to them. I know they'll think of things that haven't occurred to me, and I need and value their input.

The Lighthouse is for them, after all.

Ours is not a commercial site. I don't sell anything, and I don't request donations or accept them when they're offered. I've been putting my time and energy into the Lighthouse for the same reasons I put so much time into helping out as an unpaid moderator on that other board for three years.

Because I want to help people.

Because I want the help I give them to be a continuing, living memorial to my Bridgekids.

And because I found, as so many of us have found, that it helps me heal if I can help others.

It's inevitable that we lose loved ones. All of us will, if we live long enough. There's no way to avoid that. But the feelings of devastation and despair that so often follow major losses can be avoided. A grief support group can offer a safety net.

And the members of that grief support group can, through the help they offer others, find more strength than they'd realized they had, and a greater capacity to love.

I see that happening every day in grief support communities -- constant examples of how good people can be, how compassionate they can be. It's an ongoing revelation of the best of human nature (though so many of us will tell you that our pets are better at unconditional love, and we've learned from them). It's been a neverending source of inspiration and comfort for me, for the last five years. And I cherish it.

Just this side of heaven is a place called Rainbow Bridge.

When an animal dies that has been especially close to someone here, that pet goes to Rainbow Bridge. There are meadows and hills for all of our special friends so they can run and play together. There is plenty of food, water and sunshine, and our friends are warm and comfortable.

All the animals who had been ill and old are restored to health and vigor. Those who were hurt or maimed are made whole and strong again, just as we remember them in our dreams of days and times gone by. The animals are happy and content, except for one small thing; they each miss someone very special to them, who had to be left behind.

They all run and play together, but the day comes when one suddenly stops and looks into the distance. Their bright eyes are intent. Their eager body quivers. Suddenly they begin to run from the group, flying over the green grass, their legs carrying them faster and faster.

You have been spotted, and when you and your special friend finally meet, you cling together in joyous reunion, never to be parted again. The happy kisses rain upon your face; your hands again caress the beloved head, and you look once more into the trusting eyes of your pet, so long gone from your life but never absent from your heart.

Then you cross Rainbow Bridge together.

(Author unknown)