Finding Comfort Through Loss


Finding Comfort in Times of Loss

Finding Comfort in Times of Loss

Some of the greatest grief, pain and heartache we feel in our mortal lives is the loss of a loved one or family member. Even when we know they are in a better place, we miss them so very much and sometimes wonder how we can go on.

Even in our grief, we can express our gratitude to God for his gift to know that our bonds of love are eternal. There is comfort in knowing that when we love someone—death does not part our love! Our loved ones have returned to their heavenly home and are now surrounded with God's love. They can hear us, see us, are mindful of us, and they see and feel our love for them. We must remind ourselves that our love exists into the eternities—it never ends, it never dies.

Video: Grief Diaries Featuring Betty J. Eadie

Video: Betty J. Eadie on We Don't Die Radio

Betty reads from her books for those suffering the loss of a loved one dear.
(click above to play in a new window or use the player below)

“Embraced By The Light,”
from pages 29-31

It was almost as if I felt a pop or release inside me, and my spirit was suddenly drawn out through my chest and pulled upward, as if by a giant magnet. My first impression was that I was free. There was nothing unnatural about the experience. I was above the bed, hovering near the ceiling. My sense of freedom was limitless and it seemed as if I had done this forever.

My new body was weightless and extremely mobile, and I was fascinated by my new state of being. Although I had felt pain from the surgery only moments before, I now felt no discomfort at all. I was whole in every way—perfect. And I thought, This is who I really am . . . The fact of a pre-earth life crystallized in my mind, and I saw that death was actually a 'rebirth' into a greater life of understanding and knowledge that stretched forward and backwards through time.

“The Awakening Heart,”
from pages 85-86, 182

My Dad's death was a great loss to all of us, but especially to me. I felt the absence of his daily presence. I was aware of how much time I had spent with him, during which he was the focus of my attention; even in those hours when he wasn't, I realized, his comfort had always been on my mind. That time was suddenly open now, and I missed him terribly. But I did not grieve.

The events of his death removed any doubts I had had about the divine plan that our leaving this world for the spirit world fulfills. I had seen it firsthand. I knew Dad was in a place of love and light, relieved of his physical pain and weaknesses. There was no reason to grieve for that.

I threw myself into my life, filling the time that was suddenly there to be filled. My family needed me more than ever; a son and a daughter were going through a divorce, and little Betty was of course still the light of my life. I strengthened my commitment to my clinic, taking on help in hopes of expanding its capacity, doing service by helping more and more patients find the healing power within themselves. And I continued to share my near-death experience, both in presentations and in my hospital volunteer work. The loss of my father was always present, but my life was full. And I thought I was living true to God's will for me.

...I know the pain of loss; I have buried an infant daughter and lost other family members, including my mother. I was present at the death of my father. I still miss them all. They are all on a long journey without me now, and knowing that they are all together, I wish at times that I were with them. But I do not grieve for them. Life on this earth as mortal beings was never meant to continue forever. We are here for a season, and then we go home. . . .

When I can, I try to help by sharing that message with people who come to me tormented by grief. The loss of someone you love can be painful, and recovering from it is a difficult challenge. The most intense pain that I have seen comes from people who have lost loved ones to long, debilitating illnesses.

“The Ripple Effect”
from pages 190, 198-199

"Our bonds with loved ones continue after death as they began long before birth. The love between us is eternal and does not cease simply because we cannot see the departed. Those who have passed to the other side are very much alive—more so than ever—and they are able to comfort us and send us their love. But they are also bound by laws which govern our lives and which limit their free contact with us. Yes, they care about us, about our lives and our welfare, but they must not interfere with our progression in life. Fulfilling our life's mission requires exercising our free will. Those who have returned to heaven cannot meddle with that. Only when deemed necessary through Godly wisdom can they come to comfort us or to prepare us for events in our lives. For our part, we can pray for them, just as they might pray for us. We can speak to them too—either verbally or in thought—and our words will be heard by them or be relayed to them. They have their own work of progression and are just as occupied with it as we are with ours. They do not remain continually in our presence; rather, they busy themselves with important and engaging activities which are known only to those on the other side.

My father passed away one year before I wrote Embraced By The Light. In a vision of him afterwards I saw him scoot across the floor with his walker, much as he had done before dying. He glanced at me, smiled, then set the walker aside and began walking. I was filled with joy as he communicated to me that he was doing well. In a later vision I saw him running, and again my soul leapt as I saw him laughing, carefree and joyous. In reflecting back on my life with him, I could not recall seeing him run before. A third vision came during the time I was writing Embraced. I was cooking dinner one afternoon when I turned and saw Dad standing in the hallway. He motioned for me to follow him, so I did. He led me down the hall into my bedroom. He looked young and handsome, about forty. He was no longer bent with age but stood erect at his full height of six-foot-three. His face beamed with excitement as he pointed at the computer I used for my writing. Cheerfully he said, "Betty, I love what you are doing here!" Then he was gone as quickly as he had arrived. His appearance gave me all the strength and encouragement I needed to complete my book.

I think back on that vision from time to time, just to feel close to him. The feeling he gave me remains to this day—a feeling of hope and anticipation, of missions being performed and completed. I treasure the knowledge that he was still with me, and that others I have loved are mindful of me and are available—at our Heavenly Father's bidding—to help me when the need arises. I know with perfect clarity that they are back home, helping me, praying for me, anxious for me to finish my mission and to complete my promise to God.

You too can take comfort in knowing that your family members—perhaps from many generations back—are aware of you and are guiding you at times with unseen hands. God shares out the work of raising and watching over his children. His work occurs at many levels to ensure we are never alone. Knowledge of his plan tells us that our deceased loved ones are indeed our loved ones still. Though our mother, father, child, sister or brother may die, our love for them does not. By this we know that the bonds of love do extend between earth and heaven. By this we have hope and even assurance that family connections are enduring, even eternal.

Yes, families are forever.



Grief Diaries Featuring Betty J. Eadie

Betty J. Eadie on We Don't Die Radio


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