Long-sighted: Rosemary Field on love after death

Last month, Kate McNally beautifully described her long-lasting relationship with her husband, and her knowledge of the unconditional nature of his love and God’s love (Thought for the Week, 26 January). I was similarly fortunate in a marriage of over forty years. Sadly, Julian, my husband, died five years ago. So, what happens to the partnership, and to that love, after death?

I believe that the sacred exists in every relationship, and is particularly manifest in those based on deep love. In ‘The Ecstasy’, John Donne describes this as the ‘abler soul’:

When love with one another so
Interanimates two souls,
That abler soul, which thence doth flow,
Defects of loneliness controls.
We then, who are this new soul, know
Of what we are compos’d and made,
For th’ atomies of which we grow
Are souls, whom no change can invade.

The writer and mystic Cynthia Bourgeault suggests that the abler soul is a gift from above, not something created by us, and she suggests that true love is granted to reveal God in our lives, rather than for our personal satisfaction. In Love is Stronger than Death she describes her relationship with a monk, Rafe, before and after his death. She explains that: ‘The abler soul is a path of true love… in the sense that it conforms to and reveals the authentic pattern of each partner’s soul… During life, the innate sense of wholeness between the partners makes for an unusual ease and comfort in the relationship. And after death, if the groundwork has been adequately laid, it offers the one clear window of opportunity… for continued mutual soulwork.’

It’s for each of us to discover the mutual soulwork. For me, I continue to take forward some of our shared projects and I listen to my husband as a tender presence saying, ‘Be gentle with yourself’ and ‘Everything matters and nothing matters’. The love for Julian shared by our family and friends connects us all with him and with each other. So, while of course I still grieve the absence of his physical presence, I carry in my heart that love that passes understanding. The love is there in our continuing relationship and, if I’m open to it, this sacred love may connect me far beyond my small self. Being open requires finding my way into silence – something I’ve been able to experience more deeply over these last few years.

Another gift we shared is a meditation we found from the Buddhist monk Jack Kornfield. We practised it during Julian’s last illness, for ourselves, our family and friends, our community, and the world:

May you be held in compassion,
May your pain and sorrow be eased,
May you be at peace.

This too I bring with me.

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