Keanu Reeves was once asked during an interview with Stephen Colbert, “What do you think will happen to us when we die?” His answer was simple yet profound: “I know that the ones who love us will miss us.” Perhaps it’s as straightforward as that—or perhaps not.

The cynic might argue that when we die, we no longer need to worry about our body, the vessel that carried us through life. Our loved ones will do what they believe is right to lay it to rest.
There may be a funeral or memorial service where people gather to say goodbye, share stories, and even laugh at our expense. Some might take the day off work or rearrange their plans to attend.

The possessions we cherished and never wanted to part with will be given away, sold, or sent to recycling—or even the landfill. Yes, that includes the “stuff” tucked away in the garage or attic.

Meanwhile, the Earth will keep orbiting the Sun, and life will go on. People will wake up, go to school, head to work, or leave for vacation.

The job we excelled at will be posted, and someone with even better skills will eventually take our place

The last generation that remembers us may bring up our name during holidays, recalling the small or great things we accomplished

Friends who loved us will grieve for a few hours, maybe a few days, but those who distracted us from what truly mattered will forget us even sooner.

Any pets we owned will settle in with their new owners.

Photos of us will hang for months, maybe years, in our children’s homes—until one day they’re tucked away in a drawer or at the back of a closet.

And then, our new life without a body will begin—or maybe it won’t. Stripped of possessions and earthly identifiers like name, appearance, career, or wealth, what will that look like? Isn’t that what we’re all dying to know? (Passage Inspired and Adopted from Robert Mugabe Quotes – Facebook)

Whatever your beliefs, if they bring you peace and don’t harm others, embrace them. Deeply held beliefs can offer comfort and meaning, especially during life’s hardest moments—like facing death or the loss of someone dear.

Conversely, sharing those beliefs can invite condemnation, isolation, ridicule, and even hate or violence. No wonder many hesitate to speak openly, which makes the courage of those who do all the more admirable.

Most conventional religions teach that our essence does not cease to exist after death. Some envision a utopia for believers, while others warn of damnation. Some believe in reincarnation, returning as another person or being. Atheists—about 7% of the world’s population—reject these ideas entirely, believing that when we die, we simply become worm food.

During my years in Homicide, I encountered countless ideologies from families grappling with sudden loss. Those experiences shaped my own spirituality, which today looks very different from what I believed at twenty. Through experience and shared wisdom, how could it not?

Years ago, a career criminal—successful in the drug trade by his mid-twenties—faced a turning point after a near-death experience in jail. Attacked by another inmate who smuggled in a knife, he was gravely injured and coded twice en route to the hospital. 

During those moments when his heart stopped, he believed he had gone to hell.
When I interviewed him later, I asked, “So, did you see the light?”

His answer surprised me as it was the first time I heard this kind of revelation: “No, I didn’t.”

“What did you experience?”

“There was no light at all. I was trapped in a huge, dark, echoing space—like a gymnasium with no windows or doors. It was terrifying.” That experience convinced him to change his life: to do better and get a real job.

From what I know, he did—for about a year—until his past caught up with him and he was charged for an old robbery. I don’t know where he is today, but I believe that near-death experience still likely haunts him.

Throughout my career, I’ve had the privilege of hearing countless personal beliefs, often shared during life’s most precarious moments. Perhaps it’s because, as death investigators, we formed close bonds with families seeking answers.

One conversation stands out. About five years ago, the father of a young woman murdered by an ex-boyfriend called me. His faith taught that spirits are reincarnated.

“D?” he said excitedly.

“Yes, my friend? What’s going on?”

“Can you meet me for coffee? I have incredible news.”

At the café, he told me his daughter had come to him in a dream the night before—reborn as a baby wrapped in a blanket.

Where was she? He didn’t know, but he was certain it was her. “Now that I know she’s back on earth, all I need to do is live another twenty years.”

“Why twenty?” I asked.

“Well, in twenty years, she’ll be grown—a woman who can travel, who has access to planes, trains, and cars. Then we’ll cross paths again.”
His belief gave him a new purpose: to live well and long enough to reconnect with the soul he so desperately missed.

In the end, I don’t know what happens next, but I am sure dying to find out—What I do know is: through belief, we create meaning and purpose in our lives today. And that for me is pretty cool.