Joyful Reunions

President Russell M. Nelson said, “Irrespective of age, we mourn for those loved and lost. Mourning is one of the deepest expressions of pure love. It is a natural response in complete accord with divine commandment: Thou shalt live together in love, insomuch that thou shalt weep for the loss of them that die (D&C 42:45). Moreover, we can’t fully appreciate joyful reunions later without tearful separations now. The only way to take sorrow out of death is to take love out of life.” (Doors of Death, April 1992 General Conference)

Reaffirming the eternal truth that love is essential for a peaceful and happy life, the Lord counsels us to “live together in love.” A yearning to love and be loved is fundamental to the human experience. It’s a reflection of the divinity within us. But opening our hearts to love also opens our hearts to sorrow, and we “weep for the loss of them that die.” Weeping is the outward manifestation of deep heartache and loss. It marks the painful beginning of a heart-wrenching journey toward healing, a trek that will not end until we experience that promised “joyful reunion.”

We have many happy reunions with friends and family throughout our earthly lives, helping us to imagine and anticipate the magnificent joy we’ll feel when we are finally reunited with beloved ones who have gone before us to the world of spirits.

In 1970 I left home to serve a mission in France. Back then transatlantic telephone calls were extremely expensive, so missionaries didn’t call home on Christmas, on Mother’s Day, or for weekly chats. Phone calls were only made in cases of emergency. Consequently, I didn’t speak directly with my parents for twenty-three months. All of our communications took place in letters and occasionally on cassette tapes. You can imagine how anxious and delighted I was, after all that time, as I waited at Heathrow Airport for the customs doors to open and for my wonderful, deeply missed parents to appear.

Wanting to record such a special moment, I stood at those doors, peering through my camera’s viewfinder, waiting to take a picture when they emerged. I guess I was a little shaky … the photo is blurry, but it has helped keep my memory of that joyful reunion sharp and clear! I see my mother’s arms, wide open, and right behind her is my father, whose arms are about to come up for our embrace. They are both smiling widely as the three of us rejoice. We were so thrilled to be together again!

Both of my beloved parents are now in the spirit world. I imagine that our future reunion, someday when I pass from this life, will be very similar to that reunion at Heathrow Airport, only much more glorious.

Gilles Gallon, a main character in Our Beloved, mourned deeply for his deceased brother, Émile, who had died in a tragic auto-pedestrian accident. Here are some quotes from the book:  

“Does Émile still exist? Will I ever see him again? Will we ever be able to talk and laugh like we used to? Is it possible there’s some sort of afterlife … where we can be together as brothers?”

Gilles became caught up in childhood memories of Émile. “It never crossed our minds, not for one instant, that Émile would die young. We thought we’d live out our lives and have families and grow old … and we thought good things would come our way.”

Gilles wanted to believe in God, to believe in a joyful reunion with his cherished brother someday, but it all seemed so impossible. Sensing Gilles’ heartbreak, Dominique looked deep into the eyes of her beloved son and said:

“Gilles, Gilles, you’re trying to find God in your head … but He’s not there. He’s in your heart.”

Gilles had been walking for an hour or so when he looked around to get his bearings and start for home. In front of him was la Paroisse St. Pierre, une église Catholique de Neuilly (St. Peter Parish, a Catholic church in Neuilly). A flickering of peace passed through him as he gazed up at the impressive edifice. How he yearned for that serenity to flow permanently into his life! He really did want the faith of his mother. His skepticism was, for the most part, an attempt to shield himself from further hurt and disappointment. He wondered if she knew that. “What am I afraid of, anyway?” he thought. “If there’s no God, I won’t be hurt or disappointed … I’ll be nonexistent.” Gilles considered that for a moment. “Not existing isn’t something to fear, but it is something to dread.” 

He entered St. Peter Parish, found a private spot inside, positioned himself upon a kneeler chair, and began to pray:

“Oh God of all consolation, I miss Émile. Why did you take him? Why so suddenly? I didn’t even have a chance to say goodbye! He wasn’t just my brother … he was my best friend. Dear God, I loved him. Would you tell him that for me? Heal my broken heart, I pray. In your unending love and mercy, turn the darkness of death into a hope for life. Help me to know the truth concerning life and death. And help me to feel peace and your Holy Presence. Through the grace of Christ, our Lord, Amen.”

We grieve at the loss of our loved ones. Our sorrow can be so acute that we may fear, as did Gilles, that our hearts will burst. Prayer invites the Holy Spirit and we do feel some comfort, some flickerings of faith that will grow over time if nurtured. But faith does not fill the emptiness in our lives that we must endure when one so dear is gone.

To be quite honest, from my narrow, fallen perspective, I wish the Creator of our Plan of Salvation would have designed a different, more reassuring way for us to exit this stage of our existence. What if our bodies started glowing, as the end of this life approached, and our loved ones witnessed our smiling and relieved spirits leaving our battered bodies and entering a new and beautiful reality? That would certainly help take the sting out of death! But alas, for the vast majority of us, there are no heart-soothing visions. We do, however, receive promptings from the Holy Ghost, if we seek them, strengthening our faith in the Savior, who is our only Refuge throughout this relatively brief mortal journey. Let us not forget that faith in Him is very real, and that it sheds meaningful light on the great questions of our mortality.

What Gilles didn’t know, as he prayed in that inspiring Neuilly church, was that he would soon be joining his deceased brother and father. Here’s another excerpt from Our Beloved:

 “Gilles, behold! Thy father and thy brother. They have come to take thee home!” With that, Jesus was gone, but the warmth and compassion of His Spirit lingered. Gilles looked up and felt boundless joy surging through his entire being, for there they were! There was Papa! His face and his smile seemed so normal, so familiar, so comforting; it was like he had never died! Standing there, beholding his loved ones, Gilles was flooded with more stunning, detailed, long-forgotten memories. It was all true! Despite death, he and his father were still connected; they were part of each other, primally, fundamentally, forever.

“Papa! Salut Papa! And Émile, Émile!” While running to them, anticipating their embrace, Gilles began to sob. Deep relief and jubilation completely overwhelmed him; and then the three were one, locked in each other’s arms, a family rejoicing in reunion and love.

“And God shall wipe away all tears from their eyes; and there shall be no more death, neither sorrow, nor crying, neither shall there be any more pain: for the former things are passed away.” (Revelation 21:4)

—Richard B. Scoville