Nasty, bloody, bombing-type scary terrorists have Moms.

Adolf Hitler had a Mom. Klara Pölzl.

Dogs and cats and horses have Moms.

Even groper-pig Donald Trump had a Mom, although he probably thought of her as a MILF. Mary Anne MacLeod.

I had a Mom. Lila Margueretta Miller.

You have/had a Mom.

No matter how small or unimportant, no matter how great or powerful, and yes, no matter how scary or terrible a person… for better or worse… we ALL have a mother.

I didn’t have a mother for a long time.

I adored her in life although I feel bad for the shit I put her through in my young lad days. The trauma of the frequent knock-em-down brawls my older brother and I had, probably took 5, maybe even 10 years off her life. I can still see the look of frustration and hurt in her eyes.

Mom died suddenly when I was 15. I treasure her memory in the heaven of her afterlife.

As I grow older (I’m almost the age when she died now), the faded memory of her voice and her vision slips further and further out to sea. Now, Lila – my Mom – is mostly a mirage of a ship on the horizon, a person I loved that drifts way off overseas in the distance but is never totally out of range .

Sometimes in the middle of the night when I can’t sleep, she slips in and talks quietly to me, reassuring me better than any drug when I’m scared, “It’s alright son, this too shall pass…” …

Mom was one of the first inhabitants of my ghost town that’s grown like a lush Garden of Eden over time.

Like in an old spaghetti-western movie, there is a whole ghost town that lives in my head. People, pets, places, and buildings from my past.

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Think of all the people that have died that you’ve known and who have touched you in your life. It likely numbers in the hundreds when you dredge up family, friends, neighbours, teachers, film and music stars.

The occupants of the ghost town are different in ages and personalities and sometimes a single resident of the town can live on in different forms – you might remember your Granddad as a robust younger man as well as a much older, grey-haired senior persona.

Or long-gone Nipper, my family’s beloved Water Spaniel dog as I was growing up. He lives on in my ghost town.

This is my lens of the world gone by.

Maybe, just maybe… that is what heaven truly is.

Heaven and hell and everything in-between are all constructs, a synthesis mix of reality and fantasy we’ve pieced together in the internal workings of our minds.

My heavenly vision is a “cloud” that drifts aimlessly in the overarching sky of my mind.

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Heaven is that place where people live a second life, or multiple second lives because with each passing of an individual, that person’s soul breathes and walks inside the head of many… sons, daughters, nieces, nephews, co-workers, acquaintances.

It’s kind of morbid but it’s also quite uplifting at the same time.

It would take me hours to go through the people I have known and loved in my life that are no longer standing, breathing oxygen into their short-lived lungs on terra firma.

The interior of my head is like a TV show where I have some minor control over the appearance and movements of the characters I’ve known.

Interestingly, my mind won’t allow me to shape the personality or general sense of that person. I can’t rewrite their story because the subconscious knows the truth, or at least my perception of that individual. These were real people, not fictional Ebenezer Scrooges or Emma Woodhouses.

You may feel reassured by the notion of immortality. If you do, I’m happy for you.

I wish I found comfort in the image that heaven exists in some Christian biblical form, or like Jannah in the Qu’ran. I can’t.

My time in heaven will only live on for a generation or two beyond when I take my very last delicious bite of Cadbury Fruit and Nut bar. I’ll slowly fade to dust in the ghost towns of others. Time’s winds will carry me softly into sweet oblivion.

In the end, whether you believe in a traditional heaven or not, we will all roam, shadow-like, the hallowed halls of our loved ones’ and friends’ heads for months and years, wandering and laughing in a withering haze, like filmy baseball players disappearing into a cornfield maze.

Sooner or later, we will all chuckle and giggle at the same joke at the end of this very very long day.