When people imagine where we are, they think of clouds. Fluffy, white cumulus clouds like cartoon smoke, whisps of cirrus clouds painted in feathery watercolour.

          They picture us lying in soft cloud beds, our children lying with their hair framing their beautiful faces, making cloud angels.

          I only had an abstract sense of it before, a gentle place to go when the body is too tired to function, when there is energy left in our essence, in our minds and hearts but not in our limbs and muscles.

          I don’t know that anyone gives much thought to what happens when you die young.

          This is what you wanted to know, isn’t it? What it’s like where

we are.

          We live in a big, warm house with a view of a lake, and waterfalls, an endless field full of pink, yellow and orange dahlias, and red and white poppies. Closer to the house there are kumquat and orange and cedar trees, swings and a big lookout inside a tree, a big outdoor barbeque for cooking meat and fish. I still love cooking for everyone: rare steaks and salmon with cream and spinach sauce, mashed sweet potatoes, broccoli and grilled mushrooms, mini burgers. I live surrounded by most of the people I love, and I have the energy to take care of them. It’s like someone read a fuzzy collage fantasy about a long and almost perfect vacation in the back of mind and created it.

          So, what do you think of me now? Is it like seeing an Instagram photo come to life? Does my voice sound the way you thought it would? It’s always been low and a little bit raspy like this.

          I will tell you a secret that only the people close to me know: I wanted to be a mother most of all. Someone down there recently said I was a mother even before I had kids. I was cautious at first, but once I dived in, I loved with full force, with every fibre of my being. Some people said I moved with gentle energy, but I was funny too. I could assess things harshly if I was close to someone, I could be sarcastic.

          I have the same conscience as anyone, but I think I was a devoted partner and mother and friend.

          The time that my kids and I were apart was the most painful eternity. Now that we’re together again, I walk into their rooms at night just to watch them breathe, I lie beside them, inhaling their sweet skin. Our dog likes to lie with the other child. I listen to them laugh and run, and every sound they make is the greatest sound I’ve ever heard and felt.

          There are other kids they play with. Other kids they already knew, new ones they’ve met and made friends with. There is no shortage of tragedy on earth.

          My parents live in our home. Whole families dying together had been rarer, and for a long time I moved between realms until we were all together again. We never want to be apart again.

          I want you to know that we saw the orange balloons. We saw the Batman costumes. We saw how much everyone cared, how even if we’d never met, you were thinking of us, and we all cried. Some of the balloons floated high enough to reach the boys. They don’t burst up here. We keep them tied to their bedroom doors, and they hover just above our mezuzahs.

          I don’t know what I believe, exactly, and it’s hard to explain, but it feels like being in the presence of compassion and light, in the realm of someone who understands you wordlessly. It feels both safe and frightening.

          Look out for my husband. He was always so solid and warm, generous and spontaneous yet dependable, and every act of kindness keeps him anchored to the earth until it’s our time to reunite. Make him smile, his smile melts hearts. Give him love.

          Look out for my sister. She needs kindness and care, but she also needs teasing and ribbing, people to make her laugh, to give her a moment or two to forget.

          At sunset, look up at the sky. Sometimes you might see three orange clouds bathed in streaks of silver light, a bigger one and two smaller ones hanging on, always close enough to touch. On a special night, you might see all five of us, spreading out across the horizon, feeling all the love you’ve given us, and returning it, sending you light and beauty and hope just like you sent to us when we needed it the most.