Life and Beyond

I came to Soul Survivor by Bruce Leininger and Andrea Leininger in a quiet, unexpected way. Not through a bookstore or a recommendation, but through a television program we happened to watch one ordinary day. We recorded it. Then watched it again. And again. As if something in us was gently insisting, “Pay attention.”

Terry was like that too.
Curious. Open. Willing to follow a thread wherever it led.

Before MS, he lived fully. Not perfectly, not neatly, but fully. He tried everything. Football, hockey, baseball, golf. If it involved motion, he was in. If it involved a little risk, even better. Scuba diving, skiing, anything that let him feel alive in his body and out in the world. He was not chasing money or status. He was chasing experience. And in that way, he was already rich.

I am grateful for that.
Deeply.

Still, there were small mysteries about him. One of them was flying. He did not fear it. He simply did not like it. There was a tension in him, quiet but unmistakable, like a storm sitting just beyond the horizon. When we flew together, I could see it in his face, in the way his body held itself. He once said it felt like something he had to relive. As if the sky held a memory that had not quite finished speaking.

Then there was his connection to World War II. Not casual interest. Not passing curiosity. Something closer. He would read, watch, study. And sometimes he would say, almost matter-of-factly, “That’s the war I died in.”

You can imagine my pause.

So when we found Soul Survivor, it did not feel like coincidence. It felt like a door opening just a little wider.

We bought the book. Read it. Then read it again. Some days Terry held it himself. Other days I read aloud while he listened, and we would stop often, circling certain details the way you might circle a place on a map that looks oddly familiar. We were not trying to prove anything. We were simply paying attention.

“Past life experience” is not a comfortable phrase for everyone. I understand that. It asks a lot of the imagination. It asks even more of belief.

But Terry and I did believe.

Or perhaps more accurately, we were willing to consider.

He used to say, “Life is just temporary. We are here to learn our lessons.”

Simple words.
Steady truth.

This book did not try to convince us of anything. It simply offered a story, carefully told, thoughtfully explored. And somehow, that was enough. It gave language to things we had felt but never quite named. It gave shape to a quiet knowing that had been sitting with us for years.

More than anything, it gave Terry hope.

Hope that this life is not the whole story.
Hope that the lessons matter.
Hope that there may be another chapter where we get to try again, do better, understand more.

There is a certain comfort in that idea. Like standing at the edge of winter and trusting that spring will return, even if you cannot yet see it.

I do not claim to have answers. I am not sure that is the point.

But I do know this.
Some books arrive at the right time.
Some stories meet you where you already are.

This was one of them.

And for that, I am thankful.