I want there to be cocktails in heaven

Billy and I were talking about spirituality and what he and I think heaven, hell, angels, and spirits are and if they are possible.

His nephew, five-year-old, Joey says, what I find to be incredibly interesting things on a pretty regular basis.
Here are a few examples: “When I was in heaven, when I was your age, I chose you and Allen to be my parents.” Now he is speaking about his adoptive parents, and if he is speaking about his mother’s age, then he is referring to a time when he was 40 years old.
When he was asked the simple question of, ‘what are you doing?’ He answered, on another occasion “Playing with my dead friend.”
When he and his parents were on a drive one afternoon he pointed to a house and excitedly said, “Look! That’s the house I use to live in!”
You can chalk this up to an active five-year-old imagination, a kid who has maybe caught glimpses of, “The Sixth Sense,” and “Amityville Horror”, or you can choose to believe. Or, at the very least choose to have a conversation about life and the afterlife. Which is what we did.

Personally, I find this fascinating. I wanted to know where the house was. I want to research the history of the house. However, the statement that got me thinking and talking and asking the most questions was the first one. “…I chose you and Allen to be my parents….” To quantify something. Joey is adopted. I could maybe understand the universe sending down a soul to parents who had had two miscarriages in the last year and suddenly giving them the gift of a child, but an adopted child saying this? They took Joey into foster care when he was four months old. Then through a lot of really crazy things coming into place in a very quick and odd way that I won’t bore you with, he was adopted five months later. A child adopted within five months from foster care? Okay, sure it can happen. But, then to say something like that? I mean, maybe there is a; lost soul who is supposed to happen and come into their lives, type of universe.

So, the conversation went on from there.

We talked about angels.

I said, I think what Joey was referring to when he said he was talking to a dead person was, probably a dead person, an angel. I think children, up to a certain point, do see spirits. We, as jaded adults, no longer can, or we choose not to. However, I think spirits are around us all the time. It’s a matter of choosing to see them or not. I think those imaginary friends we had as kids, were probably angels, or spirits.
I also think we will people into our lives and this can be an ‘angel,’ if you will, or an actual person who has ‘angel’ like qualities.
Say, you need a friend who is a really great listener, doesn’t want or take anything from you. They simply want to listen to you all the time. You need this. You will it into your life in some way. Then the next thing you know you have a wonderful new friend who has an amazing ability to listen. Then when their time is ‘done’ so to speak, they move out of our lives. Either they literally move, or you, in some way, lose contact with them. But, ‘poof’, they’re gone.
I’ve had friends like this in many different forms. Are they actually angels? I don’t know. There are certainly some who I literally never heard from again. Sure, maybe something tragic happened to them, or maybe I just didn’t need them anymore. Therefore, they moved on to help someone else.

Then, the conversation moved to heaven, what we both think it is.

I think heaven, like hell, is different for everyone. What might be heaven to me might not be what would be heaven-like to you, so it’s different from you to me to the next person.

Billy’s heaven is cocktails and cute boys. In other words, a gay disco. He is definite about his desire to have cocktails and cute boys in heaven.
When I made fun of his, he made a smart remark about me running in a meadow. Funny enough, that’s what I was picturing. Me in a grassy field with flowers all around me. I was wearing a sundress, and the sky was a shade of blue only found in paintings. I was barefoot holding sandals in my left hand, the sun was on my face and I was breathing easy. So, apparently my heaven is very Summers Eve-like. Ah, fresh.
The thing is, I think the gay disco and the Summers Eve field can be right next to each other. Billy and I can be standing next to each other having a conversation while he has a cocktail in one hand, a cigarette in the other with a disco ball spinning over head and there is a loud bass in the background and I am shading my eyes from the sun where the only sound is, nothing. I mean what’s the point of two different heavens if they can’t co-exist right next to each other? I want Billy in my heaven, dammit! His gay disco had better be next to my Summers Eve field!

Hell is the same way. I told him my hell would be a loud smokey dark dank smelly pit filled with snakes. Not the fire and brimstone hell of the Bible, but a place that is smokey dark dank smelly, not to mention the snakes? Yeah, hell.
To which he responded, “Mmm, your hell is my heaven.”
“There’s no snakes at the gay disco.”
“Oh, there’s a lot of snake like men there.”
“You’ve got a point.”

Then he asked if I thought there is hatred, anger, bigotry in heaven?”
I said, “No, because then that’s now, that’s Earth. I don’t think there’s anything like that there, what would the point be?”
He then said, in heaven he, “Wants what he wants when he wants it.”
To which I responded, “So, you want your heaven to be like your Earth. You’re going to be just as selfish dead as you were alive.” To which he then called me a, fucker.

I’m not afraid of death in the least little bit. I’ve cheated it a few times, but that’s for another post. There are certain ways I don’t want to die, but ultimately, I guess it doesn’t really matter. I mean, I’m dead. I would like to have some notice about my death if I could. There are a few things I would like to get rid of before I go. But, again, I’d be dead, so I guess it doesn’t really matter who finds what when.

I also think I would come back and visit people if I could. I told Billy I wouldn’t come back and do that scary, stand-at-the-end-of-his-bed-while-he-was-sleeping-and-stare-at-him-until-he-looked-at-me type of visit. To which he replied, he was glad because he really wouldn’t like that. But, I would like to stop by and leave a note or something. A little post-it note saying, “PG was here, it’s wonderful, I love you.” type thing.

Sometimes I wish for a, “It’s A Wonderful Life,” moment. For my angel, Clarence to come down and show me the people I’ve touched, that I’ve mattered to. I mean, I know I’d be missed. I know I am loved. But, I would love to see and know before I am gone. I would love to see who I’ve mattered to. Who I’ve affected in some way. Good or bad, just an impact I’ve made on someone. It would be nice if we could all have our, George Bailey moment while we are still alive. Everyone wants validation. I think that's what we all strive for. To know we matter. To know what we do and say matters to someone. To know that someone took notice.

So, do you believe? I'm not asking if you believe in one God or what religious beliefs you have. This conversation wasn't about religion, not in any way was it about religion. God, (sure, take the pun) don't get me started on my thoughts about organized religion. (A bunch of white guys vying for power, money, land, and control. That's all I've got to say about that.) but just in something. Do you believe in something. If so, what do you believe?