“Seth material” search engine (Jane Roberts)

During her last days in the hospital Jane simply stopped eating, and I knew that her transition to another reality was near. I was with her when she died in her sleep at that early-morning hour in September 1984. As always, Seth had done his part, and more, as the record in The Way Toward Health shows. Yet he too acquiesced to Jane’s death when she made her decision to go. There were no protests on his part, no recriminations about his voice “being stilled forever,” for example. Nor did I feel any sort of rebellion — only a state of numb acceptance.

Although I told myself that I knew Jane still lived, I wasn’t used to being in the presence of physical death. I made two ball-point pen drawings of my wife while she lay on her side with her beautiful eyes still open; they were blue flecked with hazel, and were as clear and peaceful as those of a child. I had the vague idea that I’d use the drawings as references for portraits that I would paint of her. They would be unique, I thought. (I have yet to paint those particular images, but still plan to do so.)

In the days that followed I attended to the cremation Jane had decided upon long ago, took care of legal matters, paid bills, spoke briefly with a few friends. Our gravesite is not in Elmira. Later, when I could be alone, my tears began to come. I cried each day for more than a year. Yet the day after my wife’s death I’d gone back to work, finishing Volume 2 of Dreams, “Evolution,” and Value Fulfillment. What else was I to do?