Does My Brother Still Remember Me?

Three years after Craig’s death, I wonder whether love, memory, and the bonds between souls survive beyond a single lifetime.

On this day, three years ago, my brother Craig took his final breath.

He had endured a long and painful battle with cancer, a disease that gradually stripped him of his physical strength and subjected him to suffering no one should have to endure.

Craig knew he was dying.

I have often thought about the courage it takes to live with that knowledge. Most of us move through life believing tomorrow will arrive. We make plans, postpone conversations, and concern ourselves with things that might seem terribly unimportant if we knew our remaining days were numbered.

Craig no longer had that luxury.

He understood what was coming, and he faced it with extraordinary courage.

Three years have passed, and I find myself returning to a question that has occupied so much of my writing.

What happened to Craig when he died?

I don’t mean what happened to his body. I witnessed that.

I mean what happened to the consciousness that had occupied that body for more than sixty years. The part of Craig that remembered our childhood, loved his family, experienced happiness and sorrow, and recognized himself as the person he had always been.

Did that consciousness simply cease to exist?

Or did something else happen?

Those who have read my novels and essays know I have spent years exploring whether consciousness exists independently of the physical body.

I imagine our souls as individual expressions of an infinite Field of Consciousness, a field that is itself the Creator.

If that understanding is correct, then death is not the destruction of consciousness. It is a return to its source.

And so, on this third anniversary of Craig’s passing, I want to imagine what his journey might have been.

The Moment Craig Came Home

I imagine that in the moment of his passing, the first thing Craig experienced was the absence of pain.

After so many months of suffering, there was no longer a body struggling to survive, no illness consuming his strength.

And yet he remained aware.

Perhaps Craig’s first reaction was astonishment, followed by overwhelming relief. After months of watching his body deteriorate, knowing that death was approaching and fearing what that final moment might bring, he discovered that his awareness had survived.

Freed from the limitations of his body, he gradually sensed that he was not alone. What had seemed like the end of his existence was instead an awakening to something far greater.

I imagine him becoming aware of an infinite presence in which countless individual souls existed, each distinct yet inseparable from the whole.

No bodies, no faces, no physical boundaries.

Only consciousness.

And within that immeasurable Field, Craig would begin to understand that he had not possessed a soul during his years on Earth.

He was a soul who had lived, for a time, as Craig.

He had come home.

The Souls Who Came Before Him

I like to imagine that one of the first souls Craig recognized was our father.

Not through a familiar face or the sound of his voice, but through a recognition that went beyond the physical senses.

Perhaps that recognition brought memories of other lives they had shared, lives in which their roles had been entirely different.

And then there is Sam.

My son died on January 27, 2021, nearly three years before Craig. His death profoundly influenced my writing and deepened my interest in what might exist beyond physical death.

I imagine Craig experiencing an extraordinary sense of joy upon discovering Sam among the countless souls within the Field.

Sam had arrived before him, and perhaps he had already come to understand much of what Craig was only beginning to discover. No longer confined to the identity of the young man whose life ended so tragically, Sam would possess the accumulated memories and wisdom of many lifetimes.

I like to think Sam welcomed his uncle, helped him understand this new existence, and reassured him that the suffering he had endured was finally behind him.

Perhaps their reunion also revealed a deeper history between their souls, one that extended far beyond the years they knew each other as uncle and nephew.

The thought of my son welcoming my brother into the Field comforts me.

I wish I knew whether that reunion is possible.

The Family Craig Left Behind

In my understanding of reincarnation, the relationships between souls are not confined to a single lifetime.

I call these connections soul-lines.

I imagine Craig discovering them as memories of earlier lives begin to return.

He would recognize Heather, his wife, as a soul he had known long before their marriage. Perhaps they had shared other relationships, with different circumstances and responsibilities, yet retained an affection that drew them together once more.

Then there is our sister June.

I imagine Craig remembering lives in which their roles were reversed, where he depended on her during difficult times, and others in which she depended on him.

Perhaps they had been siblings before, or friends whose circumstances brought them together. Whatever their roles, each encounter would have contributed something to their understanding of one another.

And then I think about our mother.

She continues her own earthly journey, carrying the sorrow of losing her husband, son, and grandson.

I wonder what Craig might discover about their relationship.

Perhaps in an earlier life, he was the parent, and she was his child.

Imagine the significance of that reversal.

Craig would remember the responsibility of caring for her, worrying about her safety, and the helplessness that comes when someone you love suffers.

In one life, she had protected him.

In another, he had protected her.

The roles would change, but the love would remain.

I find something deeply moving in that possibility, particularly knowing how difficult Craig’s final months were for our mother.

Perhaps the souls we love return to us in different relationships because we always have more to learn about giving and receiving love.

What Craig Might Have Learned

I don’t imagine death transforming Craig into an all-knowing being.

Instead, I imagine him remembering earlier lives and recognizing patterns in his behavior. Perhaps he was generous in one existence and selfish in another, or experienced suffering similar to what he once caused others.

Within the Field, I imagine there would be no external judgment.

Only understanding.

Perhaps Craig would come to appreciate his actions from the perspectives of those affected by them, discovering that the purpose of our earthly experiences is not perfection, but a greater capacity for compassion.

And I wonder how he would understand the cancer that ended his life.

I do not believe his illness was deserved or that his suffering was some lesson he was required to endure.

What happened to Craig was terrible.

But perhaps, freed from the physical pain, he could remember the people who cared for him and the courage required of those who watched him approach death.

His suffering had not belonged to him alone.

Everyone who loved him had endured part of it.

I was there at the end.

What brought release to Craig brought grief to me.

For him, the pain had ended.

For me, another kind of pain had begun.

Three Years Within the Field

Three years have passed on Earth.

I have grown older. Our family has continued living. Birthdays, holidays, conversations, and ordinary moments have been marked by Craig’s absence.

But I imagine time operates differently within the Field.

There would be no mornings or evenings, no seasons passing, and no aging body to mark the years.

Perhaps Craig has spent what we call three years exploring memories from previous lives, recognizing familiar souls, and discovering how little he understood about existence while living on Earth.

I imagine him becoming aware of souls preparing to return to earthly life, their accumulated memories remaining within their consciousness even as those memories become inaccessible to their new minds.

Perhaps Craig has considered returning himself.

But when I imagine him now, I see him remaining within the Field.

There is still much for him to discover.

And somewhere among those countless memories, I believe he would return to the years when he was my brother.

Our childhood, the years that followed, and the ordinary experiences that became part of our family history.

I wonder if he would remember the final moments of his life differently than I do.

I remember watching him die.

Perhaps he remembers becoming free.

What I Would Tell Craig

If I could speak to my brother today, I would tell him that I still think about him.

I would tell him I remember his courage, his suffering, and how he faced something most of us spend our lives trying not to contemplate.

But I would also tell him that I remember the years before cancer.

I remember being brothers.

And I would ask him the questions that have occupied so much of my writing.

Did he recognize Dad?

Did he find Sam?

Does he remember lives that came before the one we shared?

And does he still remember me?

I cannot know the answers.

But I find comfort in imagining that the love we experienced as brothers remains part of his consciousness, just as it remains part of mine.

Perhaps our souls have known one another before. Perhaps in some earlier century we were brothers, friends, or strangers whose lives briefly intersected.

And perhaps we will meet again.

Not necessarily as Neil and Craig, but as two souls recognizing something familiar that neither can fully explain.

Three years ago, I watched my brother die.

I know what happened to his body.

What happened to the consciousness that made him Craig remains a mystery.

But if my understanding of existence is correct, his journey did not end on November 1, 2023.

It continued beyond the limitations of the body, within the infinite Field of Consciousness from which we all emerge.

And somewhere within that Field, I imagine my brother still learning, still remembering, and still discovering the extraordinary nature of existence.

Three years ago, Craig may not have reached the end of his journey.

Perhaps he had simply come home.