Beyond the Door Inspirational Story: A Tale of Hope and Resilience
|
Getting your Trinity Audio player ready...
|
“Beyond the Door” is an inspirational story that explores the space between life and death, revealing how that very space can offer profound answers.
I first stood at the edge of death in my mid-twenties – not in a dramatic, sirens-blaring kind of way, but through a slow, relentless decline that drained my strength, will, and hope. Each day, it felt as though an unseen force was siphoning the life out of me, bit by bit.
One afternoon, laying motionless on my bed, too weak to do anything but breathe, a grim realization settled over me: I was losing the battle. For the first time, death wasn’t an abstract concept – it felt immediate.
What if today was my last? Or tomorrow? What if I drifted into sleep and never woke up?
It wasn’t the act of dying that terrified me but the uncertainty of what came after. My parents, siblings, and friends were all still very much alive. If there was an afterlife, no one would be there to greet me. What if I had to face it alone? And what if, after my last breath, there was nothing at all? The thought of an endless, silent void gripped me with a chilling fear.
After rebounding and finding enough strength to leave the house, I headed straight to Barnes & Noble, browsing the self-help, metaphysical, and religious book sections in a desperate search to uncover the mysteries of the afterlife.
Devouring everything I could find on near-death experiences, reincarnation, and the possibility of life beyond this one, none of it satisfied me. The stories felt either too distant or too fantastical – like they belonged to someone else, not me.
Then I found Many Lives, Many Masters by Dr. Brian Weiss.
Something about the title caught my eye, and after browsing through the book, I couldn’t wait to get home to read it. The story – a psychiatrist uncovering past lives and the ethereal space between them – was unlike anything I’d ever read. It felt like a veil had lifted, offering a glimpse of something vast and beautiful beyond this life.
I finished the book in two days, clinging to its revelations like a lifeline. But it wasn’t enough. The need for a personal experience grew – a desire for proof that couldn’t be satisfied through words alone. Reaching out to Dr. Weiss brought a surprising response: a personal reply and two cassette tapes designed to guide listeners through a past-life regression.
Those tapes became an obsession, each session a ritual fueled by expectation and determination. Vivid flashes came to life – a boy carrying a drum across a snow-covered battlefield, a woman in 16th-century mourning clothes cradling a Maltese dog – fragments of previous lifetimes. Yet the place I longed to see most, the “space between lifetimes,” where souls healed and wisdom flowed, remained stubbornly out of reach.
It was maddening. As my body continued to fail, so did my spirit. Without that knowledge, I felt adrift, unable to make peace with what awaited me.
Then, one night, everything changed.
Lying restlessly in bed, unsure whether sleep had finally claimed me or death had, I opened my eyes to find the bed and bedroom gone.
I was standing in a hallway.
Alone.
The walls were dark and featureless, stretching into infinity in both directions. But it wasn’t the endlessness of the hall that held my attention. It was the black door in front of me.
It stood tall and imposing, its edges outlined with a faint, otherworldly glow. From behind it came voices – low, indistinct, but undeniably present.
My breath froze as the doorknob turned.
Then slowly, the door began to open.
“Come in,” a young boy’s voice beckoned from the other side.
His face appeared in the dim light of the hallway – a freckled grin full of innocence. His sandy-blond hair was tousled, framing his face with a natural, unkempt charm. As he stepped forward into the light, I saw his piercing blue eyes – bright and inquisitive – and for a moment, it felt as though they saw straight through me, into the depths of my soul.
He couldn’t have been older than eleven or twelve, yet there was something ancient about him – like he possessed a knowledge that went well beyond his years.
“Everybody’s here,” he added. “We’ve been waiting for you!”
“Everybody?” I craned my neck to peer into the room beyond him. “Who’s everybody? And for that matter, who are you?”
“I’m Ethan,” he said, gripping my hand with surprising strength, and leading me through the doorway. “Come on, you’ll see.”
Stepping into a cavernous room – a ballroom perhaps – I gasped at its enormity. The energy of hundreds of voices hummed, blending together like an orchestra tuning up before a performance. Laughter floated through the air, light and carefree, as though worry had never existed.
“Who are all these people?” I whispered. “I don’t know any of them. And why are they all here?”
“You know them,” he said with certainty, guiding me through the crowd. “And they’re all here to see you.”
Disbelief and confusion swirled inside me as the faces of the people we passed turned toward me, their expressions warm and welcoming. One man tipped an imaginary hat and said, “Hi, I’m Hector.” A woman beside him added, “I’m Anita.” One by one, they introduced themselves – George, Clara, Michael – names that meant nothing to me.
Nodding cordially to them, I turned to Ethan. “You must be mistaken. I’ve never met these people a day in my life.”
His eyes shimmered with confidence. “Not in this lifetime, Mom,” he said. “But in others? We’ve all been part of your story.”
His words hit me like a wave crashing against the shore. “Did… did you just call me ‘Mom’?”
“Yes. You were my mother a long time ago,” he said far too casually. “In another life.”
I searched his face for any hint of familiarity and shook my head. “No, I don’t know you either. If you were my son, I’d remember you. A mother doesn’t forget her child.”
His gaze softened, filled with understanding. “You don’t remember me – or them – because your memories are tied to your current life. But when you return here for good, you’ll remember everything. Me, them, and everyone you know now.”
Return for good?
Feeling overwhelmed, I scanned the room repeatedly, hoping the faces around me would begin to spark some recognition. No matter how much I searched, they remained strangers. Yet they seemed to know me well. Not by my appearance, but by my spirit.
“Ethan?” I asked, hesitant. “Am I… in heaven?”
He chuckled softly. “No, Mom. This isn’t heaven.”
“Then I’m not dead?”
“You’re not dead.”
“Then I’m just dreaming, and this is all a figment of my imagination,” I said, my chest tightening with disappointment.
His chuckle turned into a hearty laugh. “No, you’re not dreaming either.”
“Then what is this place?”
“You’re in a ‘space,’” he emphasized, drawing out the word, “between your world and mine.”
Frustration crept into my voice. “But how… how did I get here? And why…?”
“Oh, Mom,” he said, shifting his weight and tucking his hands into his pockets. “You know why you’re here. You’ve been searching for answers ever since you got sick. And as for the how… you’ve been yearning for this moment for months, almost willing yourself here.”
“Yeah,” I nodded. “That’s true.”
“And let’s not forget God,” he added with a smile. “He had a hand in bringing you here too.”
The questions kept rising in my throat, but before I could ask more, someone approached us to say hello. And that’s when it hit me.
“You’re just a child,” I said, pausing, hesitant to ask the question. “All of these people are adults. Did you… did you die young?”
He nodded solemnly. “Yes. During an epidemic.”
Tears blurred my vision. “I’m so sorry,” I faltered, unsure of what else to say.
He placed his hand on my arm, his touch steadying. “It’s okay, Mom. Everything happens for a reason. I’ll come back one day.”
His words tugged at me, and I began to wonder… “To be my son?”
He shook his head, his expression unwavering. “No. I won’t be returning in your lifetime. But Cassandra will be.”
“Cassandra? Who’s Cassandra?”
He didn’t answer. Instead, he disappeared into the crowd. My pulse quickened as I searched for him, but the room was too big, and the faces were too numerous.
Then, suddenly, he reappeared, holding the hand of a little girl who was about six years old. Her blond curls cascaded over her shoulders, and she wore a white lace dress that swayed around her knees. A crown of pink and white flowers rested on her head, with ribbons trailing gently down her back. Had she been buried that way?
“Hello, little girl,” I said, kneeling to her level. “Ethan told me your name is Cassandra. Are you his sister?”
She nodded, her small fingers twisting a golden curl as she glanced away.
“And… was I your mother?” The question felt strange on my tongue, but I felt compelled to ask it.
Again, she nodded.
Reaching out to hold her tiny hand, I noticed how fragile it felt in mine, her skin cool and delicate like a petal. My heart swelled with a tenderness I could hardly contain.
“Are you okay here, Cassandra? Is anyone taking care of you?”
“She’s fine, Mom,” Ethan interjected. “I’m taking care of her. There’s no need to worry. I’ll continue to watch over her until she’s ready to join you.”
“Join me?” I echoed. “What do you mean?”
“She’s decided to go back. Not yet, but soon. She’s ready to experience life again.”
Her small form, so delicate and ethereal, stirred a wave of anxious anticipation within me. “Will she… will she be my daughter?”
“No, Mom. Not this time.” Ethan lowered his voice as if to soften the blow, “You won’t have any children in this life.”
His words cut straight to my core. And somehow, I knew he was speaking the truth. Still, every detail of Cassandra’s face stayed etched in my mind: her captivating amber eyes, her dimples, and her high cheekbones.
“Will we ever meet again?” I asked her softly.
Finally, she looked up at me, and gazing into my eyes, she nodded. An unspoken promise.
“You won’t just meet her,” Ethan said. “You’ll know her. She’ll be a part of your life.”
“How… How will I know her if she’s not my child?” The words came out sharp, almost desperate. “And how will she be a part of my life?”
“Mom,” he said, leaning in closer, his presence grounding me. “When the time comes, you’ll know everything you need to know.” After a long pause, he stepped back and added, “It’s time for you to go back now, Mom. You’ve been here too long.”
“No,” I said, placing my arm around Cassandra’s shoulder and pulling her closer. “I can’t leave you. Not yet. Please… let me stay.”
“You have to go back,” he insisted, his voice growing more serious. “And I need to prepare you for what’s coming.” His face twisted into a grimace. “When you go through the door, you’ll fall back into your body. It’s going to be painful, but it won’t last forever.” He paused, his tone softening. “And Mom… you’ll be ill for a while longer, but you’ll be okay. It’s not your time to die.”
Turning toward the door, the door’s pull felt magnetic. But my body refused to move. How could walking away from them and returning to the life before—sick and weak—be possible? How could leaving behind this peace, this love, this connection be an option? There were no memories of anyone here—at least not yet—but it still felt like home, and I didn’t want it to slip away.
“No,” I said firmly. “I won’t go.”
Ignoring me, he took a step forward, forcing me to take a step back. Cassandra pulled away and ran off.
“Ethan, stop. There are still so many questions that need to be answered. Who will Cassandra be? Is she going to be a boy or a girl? Who will be her mother? Please answer me.”
But he remained silent. With defiant resolve, he took another step forward, then another. He kept walking until the doorframe was just behind me – the darkness beyond it waiting to pull me away. Pausing, he wrapped his arms around me tightly, as if trying to absorb every part of me – to remember this version of me, different from the mother he had known when he was alive.
With his head resting against my chest and sorrow in his voice, he said, “I love you, Mommy. I’ll be waiting for you.”
He then placed his hands on my stomach and gently pushed me backward through the door.
I fell.
Through the darkness.
Weightless.
Endless.
Until… suddenly… with a horrifying jolt, I slammed back into my lifeless body. Gasping for air, my lungs burned. As if struck by lightning, pain shot through every cell. Bolting to my feet, the world spun around me.
Pacing back and forth in my small room, I felt disoriented as my mind raced with the thought that somewhere in another realm, Ethan and Cassandra were waiting. I glanced at the clock; it read 3:15 a.m. Nearly four hours had passed.
Trying to convince myself it was all just a bizarre dream, I knew better. This was far more than that. Every detail replayed in my mind, over and over, like a recording stuck on loop. The memories came flooding back: Ethan, handsome and standing tall, with a maturity beyond his years; Cassandra, sweet and innocent, her small hand resting warmly in mine; and all the faces that greeted me with love. It wasn’t just the images that lingered – it was the feeling. A serenity so profound, a connection so genuine, it was as if time itself had paused, giving all of us a fleeting moment to be together.
Dreams dissolve quickly, but this… This would stay with me forever. It felt so much like truth.
Eventually, I overcame my illness and moved on with my life. The normal everyday demands and responsibilities propelled me forward, making that night feel like a distant memory. Though it wasn’t forgotten, it became dulled – like an old photograph tucked away in a box, waiting for the right moment to resurface.
In the years that followed, a transformation took place within me. Patience and forgiveness grew – not just toward others but also toward myself. The burdens that once felt crushing – the unpaid bills, unresolved arguments lingering like tacit wounds, and the relentless pursuit to do more, be more, and have more – seemed to fade into the background. What truly mattered now were the moments that bonded me with family and friends, the love that grew through shared experiences, and the bridges I began to build where walls once stood.
This shift in focus made me value family even more as it continued to grow. My sister, Patty, welcomed a daughter, then another. Both times, thoughts of Cassandra resurfaced – had she found her way back? And if she had, how would I know? I searched their faces for even the smallest hint of her spirit, but there wasn’t a single trace to be found.
When Patty’s oldest daughter was two years old, she had the most beautiful blond hair that flowed in stunning waves down her back. She really stood out in our family – the rest of us were all brunettes. It made me feel optimistic. But Emma was very different from Cassandra and had none of her traits. While Cassandra was calm and thoughtful, Emma was bold, lively, and carefree. They couldn’t be more different. Emma was a free spirit who had her own unique personality.
It was time to let it go and move on. And I did.
Until my 40th birthday.
Patty gave me a large, wrapped gift. “This one is special,” she said.
Tearing off the paper, a framed photograph of Emma, now six years old, revealed itself. Staring at the image, a lump formed in my throat.
Emma sat in a patch of wildflowers, a delicate wreath of pink and white blooms crowning her head. Ribbons – one pink and one white – draped over her shoulder, catching the sunlight as they framed her face. Her large, glimmering eyes met the camera with the same sheepish, shy gaze that I could still recall so easily.
Clutching the frame, my knees buckled. It was her. Cassandra.
“Are you okay?” my sister asked, her voice sounding muffled and distant.
Nodding, the tears welled in my eyes, “Where was this taken?”
“The botanical gardens.”
“And the wreath of flowers?”
“They were selling them in the gift shop. She saw it and had to have it.” Patty paused, concern flickering across her face. “When she spotted a small meadow of flowers, she insisted on having her picture taken there. It was as if she knew exactly what she was doing.”
My fingers traced the glass as Ethan’s promise echoed in my mind: “You will know her” Despite my doubts, he had been right – about everything. Cassandra had come back into my life, not as my daughter, but as my cherished niece.
That experience ignited a deeper desire for understanding. I enrolled in a course with Dr. Brian Weiss to explore what lies beyond. In that supportive environment, I started sharing my story with others and soon began giving lectures about my experiences. To my surprise, people were eager to listen; they wanted to believe.
The more I lectured, the more it became clear just how many others had similar experiences to mine – brief encounters with something greater, fleeting glimpses of what might lie beyond this world. In countless conversations, people shared stories of walking the razor-thin edge between life and death. Together, we wove a rich tapestry of experiences, exchanging haunting yet beautiful tales imbued with wonder, sorrow, and an unshakable sense of hope.
Even now, thoughts of Ethan often cross my mind. His face remains vivid, untouched by time. I wonder if he’ll look the same when we meet again or if the years will have changed him as they’ve changed me.
But one thing is certain: he’ll be there, waiting for me, along with the loved ones I’ve known in this life and the ones before.
And this time, I’ll remember them all.
Because when I return, it will be to stay.
Lorrie Lush is an author and professor of creative writing at SUNY Westchester Community College. With a passion for storytelling, she writes about life, spiritual growth, and the emotional and physical transformations that shape our journeys. Her work delves into themes of healing, empowerment, and resilience, offering readers a perspective of strength through life’s challenges. Through her teaching, Lorrie helps students tap into their own storytelling potential while exploring the transformative power of narrative.
Links:
Recommended Reading: Many Lives, Many Masters by Dr. Brian Weiss
Recommended Meditation: Past-Life Regression Series by Dr. Brian Weiss
Recommended Online Meditation: Dr. Brian Weiss at the Omega Institute at Rhinebeck, NY.
Leave a Reply