#211, Heaven
Mitch Albom has a distinct view of heaven. Heaven is not filled with pristine fluffy white clouds nor angels playing golden harps. There aren’t pearly gates to let you in and golden halos hovering above everyone’s head—heaven is merely a reflection of a pre-existing reality. When you pass away, your heaven manifests as a place and time you hold dearly in your heart. For Eddie, it was an impossibly perfect Ruby Pier from his memory.
Eddie blinked hard. This was the Ruby Pier of his childhood, some 75 years ago, only everything was new, freshly scrubbed. Over there was the Loop-the-Loop ride—which had been torn down decades ago—and over there the bathhouses and the saltwater swimming pools that had been razed in the 1950s. Over there, jutting into the sky, was the original Ferris wheel—in its pristine white paint—and beyond that, the streets of his old neighborhood and the rooftops of the crowded brick tenements,with laundry lines hanging from the windows.
Each person’s heaven is populated with five people, all whom teach a lesson to help one understand their life and its meaning. It could be someone you are close with like your father or wife, or someone you did not know existed at all, like the Blue Man for Eddie. What would your heaven be?
To complete this Journal response, address the following:
Write a story in the third-person point of view (e.g., Brenden awoke lying atop a tatami mat) about your version of heaven. In your story:
Describe your version of heaven.
Write about the first person you meet in heaven and the lesson they teach you.
Comment on a peer’s response.
-Brenden Lee Teacher