Last year, we received that dreaded phone call to come to the hospital. My son had been hit by a vehicle while he was riding a bicycle. Calls such as these aren’t made to parents of adult children for minor injuries. I knew this was much, much worse.
It was 5:30PM. He had texted his brother at 4:45PM; he was heading out on a bike ride. He rode a few miles until he was hit by a vehicle, thrown into the car windshield and beyond.
Upon arrival at the hospital, we were ushered into a private room, confirmation of my suspicion that this accident was severe. A chaplain soon joined us. We were silent. We were terrified. We were in disbelief. A neurosurgeon came in, surgery performed and after several hours, we were rejoined with the surgeon who was painfully honest and offered no hope.
Any conscientiousness parent understands the comfort in knowing where your child is. Losing my son moved me into a trajectory of needing to know where he had gone. So fit and completely alive and then, gone. Yes, of course I knew where his earthly body was, but to where had his life gone? It didn’t seem possible to me that this full life was now fully gone. I needed to find my connection with him. And so, I began to reflect deeply on the connection between our physical life and our “brain” life.
Our brain carries us through life as we experience, chronicle, and process the minutes we live. Life is in the brain; our physical presence in essence is carrying our life. Greater than any computer, we generate brain files.
No one would argue that with our miraculous brains we are separate from other life. But why is this so?
Could it be perhaps that this mental, emotional component of life continues when our physical body expires? If my son was in another realm, all I needed to figure out was how to reach him.
For thousands of years, after-life has been discussed. Formal religion aside, in Biblical context Jesus Himself said to the robber crucified aside of Him, that they would be in Paradise together. How could being in Paradise together happen without something living on, as each of them was facing death? Could it be that our brain continues in a non-physical realm? Could it be that when our physical body is pushed to the complete destruction known as death, our brain life, a mere mental life, continues? I desperately wanted my son to be alive in some context.
If we live on in a mental realm, could this realm be an interface for those individuals who claim to have experienced others who have passed? Can we be touched or gently brushed by this realm? If there is an interface, an opportunity to connect, then I have done so. If life is in fact in our brains, if we continue to live, then my son is fully alive.
The literary magazine of Hagerstown Community College