In nearly every contact I’ve had with loved ones who have passed, they all express a deep and abiding sense of happiness, no matter where they are now. There is a lightness in their presence, a freedom that they didn’t experience while they were here. The greatest relief, they often share, comes to those who suffered on Earth—whether physically, emotionally, mentally, or in terms of chronic illness. They speak of finding comfort, clarity, and healing that can only be described as miraculous.
Some people, understandably, have said it sounds like a fantasy—an idealized vision we cling to in order to ease the sting of grief and loss. But I’ve come to believe that what we call wondrous or unbelievable is, in fact, the natural state of things. It’s not that their world is unreal. Rather, our perception is limited by the physical constraints of this life. What seems extraordinary to us is simply the norm on the other side. If anything needs to change, it is our perception.
For many, the idea that there is hope beyond this life is a source of great solace, especially for those who have endured long periods of suffering. It offers a sense of purpose and the reassurance that nothing is lost—only transformed. And yet, one heartfelt question remains: How can our loved ones be content, truly happy, when they are no longer physically with the people they care about most on Earth?
The answer I’ve consistently received is surprisingly simple and profoundly comforting. From their perspective, life passes in the blink of an eye. Time, as we understand it, simply does not exist in the same way. They see our eventual reunion not as a distant hope, but as something certain and near. They wait, not in sorrow, but in peace and anticipation.
In the meantime, they are not idle. They continue to learn, to explore, and to grow. The other side, they say, is a place of immense beauty and discovery, a realm of deep understanding and connection. Some describe it as returning home after a long journey. There is no pain, no fear, and no loneliness. Instead, there is a vast unfolding of truth and love, beyond anything we can fully comprehend here.
Knowing this does not erase the grief of losing someone. That sorrow is real and valid. However, it does offer something just as real: hope. Not the vague hope of wishful thinking, but the grounded, recurring testimony of those who have gone before us. They are not gone. They are simply ahead of us, waiting with open hearts.
And so, yes, the grass truly is greener on the other side. Not because our world is without value, but because the journey does not end here. It continues, more beautifully than we dare to imagine.
