Article 2: The Death of my Wife

It had to happen some day. It had to happen to someone. The time had arrived to test this scientifically-validated method of venturing into the after-death state in a manner that had never been attempted before.

When my wife died I decided to see if it were possible to visit her on her new journey, as often as necessary to determine just what happens in the post-mortem world. Would it be possible to obtain details from her or those in her environment, question them, explore secrets of the human condition that have been veiled for so long? Again, I might just keep her company.

Three days after her death I sat by myself at home and initiated an IADC® trance. Without trouble I came across Val. She gave me a hug. I experienced little else.

Two days later during an IADC®  session the mood changed! She said that our marriage was a wreckage, that I had not given her the support necessary because of my work commitments. I was not there much of the time, she said, especially when I was most needed. In response to my questions she mentioned that she seemed to be back in the hospital unit, feeling even more isolated and alone than before. The ceiling looked the same. Nobody came near or even looked into the room. The awful boredom was no longer broken by a meal or even the appearance of another human being, and I got the impression I was being blamed for it all, everything, including her illness and death.

It was a fortnight before I felt inclined to communicate again, being aware of the toll the previous three years had taken on me. Using the neurotherapeutic modality as before, we discussed a daughter we had lost prior to her birth a year after our marriage in 1967. Val had not encountered Tanya. After accusing me of never having loved her, we parted ways for another two weeks. If this was what inspired philosophical discourse felt like, I preferred to dig in the dirt for a living!

But I did know what was going on. Further conversations over the following few weeks confirmed it, as did my background in transpersonal psychology. If a person dies in emotionally distraught circumstances, she holds to the same emotions for some time after death has taken place.

Why? She has lost only her physical vehicle. Both her emotions and her thinking faculties remain intact. Nothing has changed. That is, the minutes before death are identical to the minutes after, and the person is not likely to notice any difference.

Some time later Val related her death experience to me with the following words: “There were people there, a doctor and two nurses. They were talking quietly together and the doctor was writing. I continued to feel wrecked and ‘gutted’. I was not capable of being interested in anything.”

“Then I was on a gurney moving through the corridors, and it was only at that point I noticed something strange. I seemed to be moving sideways, until I was positioned slightly above it and to one side. I had died! Even that didn’t interest me.”

Much later, drifting within a neurological trance as always when communicating with Val, we discussed her death from a different perspective. The words formed in my mind clearly and unambiguously, although I saw nothing. The sensation was the same as listening to ordinary conversation.

Val: “The death experience extends from the time the physical vehicle wears out, at least in my case, to the time in the new environment when every emotion and thought has been extracted from the years spent in physical, that one chooses to extract –“

Des: “So you’re still dying even now?”

Val: “Yes I am.”

On another occasion we discussed in detail what Val went through at her funeral. What did she see, what did she feel, what was she doing?

At one point I caught up with Tanya, our baby who had miscarried a year after we were married. The mature Tanya helped me understand the complex processes associated with the growth of a baby (and child) in the post-mortem environment, and the reasons why a miscarriage or termination is invariably both constructive and planned: “In nature everything is planned. A tree doesn’t grow upside down, with the roots in the air and the leaves under the ground.”

But two issues intrigued me most: One, although I have acquainted myself with various streams of transpersonal psychology (that which transcends the personal or the physical), I have never encountered concepts even remotely similar to those that accosted me while in a neurological trance. Two, many of these concepts were totally different from my personal expectations and views, and on one occasion I was respectfully taken to task because of my “prejudiced” outlook.