Oscar, however, is another story. He’s keenly aware of my presence. He gazes up at me intently, tail wagging, and runs to the basket where we keep his leash.
“Sorry, buddy, I can’t take you.”
He continues to stare, which is not surprising. Even when I was alive, he wouldn’t take no for an answer.
“Where’s Connor?” I ask Amanda.
Still no response from her.
I glance at the clock on the wall and remember that he had hockey practice this afternoon. I need to go to the rink, but I’m hesitant to leave. I don’t want to say goodbye to Amanda.
She moves to the refrigerator, opens it, and reaches for a tub of yogurt.Good, healthy choice,I think as she peels back the plastic lid. She opens the cutlery drawer and digs around for a spoon.
Watching her, I feel strangely euphoric, which is shocking to me. Somehow, I know she’s going to be okay. She’s a beautiful soul. I’ve raised her well, and she’s intelligent. Independent. A good person. My heart overflows with love for her and pride in the person she’s become.
I don’t want to leave her, and I regret that I won’t be here for important events in the future, like her wedding day and the birth of her children. That will be difficult for her, but I hope she’ll understand that we’ll never be apart, and we’ll see each other again. But right now, I have to go. I have no choice. I can’t fight this.
Slowly, I withdraw from the kitchen. I treasure these last few seconds, watching her in this life. Then I zoom, at the speed of light, to the rink.
Connor is skating fast during a scrimmage. I hover over the centerline and watch him perform his magic.
I’ve never seen him skate from this angle before, and I’m captivated by his footwork and stick handling. Though I suppose this is nothing new. I’ve been captivated by my children since the day they were born.
Connor swerves around a defenseman and heads down center ice, straight to the net. He shoots and scores.
Under normal circumstances, I’d jump to my feet, cheer, and clap, but I’m already floating. Besides, it’s just a scrimmage game. All the same, his teammates high-five him in their hockey gloves.
For a triumphant moment, I watch my son and feel his exhilaration as if it were my own. I’m a proud mother and also relieved. I’m confident that he’ll live a good life. Whatever he does, he’ll do it with gusto.
I wish I could stay longer to see his life unfold, but I feel a warmth that beckons, and I need to go to it. I’m compelled.
I fly straight up toward the rafters, and I don’t look back.
Chapter Sixteen
Love
A marvelous aroma of freshly mowed grass fills me with ecstasy. The sky is endlessly clear, illuminated by a golden, ethereal light. There’s a soft summer breeze on my face, untainted by pollution, and I’m weightless.
I’ve returned to the Annapolis Valley, where I was born and raised, and I feel at home in the lush green landscape of cornfields, graceful weeping willows, and towering, majestic maples. I’m not riding in a car, but I travel swiftly along familiar country roads. I pass by a white farmhouse. A black-and-white sheepdog frolics in the front yard. Is he chasing butterflies? A Frisbee? I can’t guess, but it doesn’t matter. He’s happy, and his joy is contagious.
I close my eyes and savor the warmth of the sunshine and my sense of safety and well-being. How different it feels from my last few moments on earth, in those cold, churning waters that had taken my life, when I was terrorized by the violence of the stormy ocean.
Yet when I think of its salty fragrance, the fog and the mist, and the mesmerizing roar of those frothy, breaking waves, I harbor no animosity. I love the ocean devotedly. I’m a part of it now, a part of the force that took my life, along with the earth and the wind, the insects, plants, flowers, rocks, and minerals.
Here, in this place, the sky is a multifaceted shade of blue that astounds me. I’ve never seen that shade before. All the clouds have silver linings—a dazzling light that shines from beyond. The leaves on the trees are full of moisture, buzzing with life. The rational part of my brain—which continues to wield influence on my thinking—makes me wonder if I’m dreaming, because each individual leaf, among thousands, seems to regard me with love. We share a joy I can’t even begin to comprehend.
What’s happening here? I know I’m dead, but I’m surrounded by the miracle of life. Photosynthesis, metabolism, chemical energy. I’m enthralled by the world around me, though I know it’s not real. How can it be? I’ve always imagined the hereafter to be a place beyond the clouds, but I’ve returned to the home I love.
Is this my own private, personal heaven, called forth just for me? Is that how this works?
I fly faster through the valley, over fields, forests, and winding roads. Colors everywhere are more vivid and harmonious than anything I’ve experienced on earth—blues, greens, pinks, and golds that blend together in perfect harmony. I pass over a tiny white chapel that shimmers with divine radiance. A bell is ringing in its steeple.
I keep moving and finally pause on a residential country lane, where I spot a tall concrete water fountain with a statue of an angel in someone’s backyard. For some reason I can’t explain, it speaks to me.
My feet are bare, and I set them on the cool, green grass. The physical sensation of my feet connecting with the earth is heady, but I feel wholly at ease as I approach the fountain, where three gorgeous red cardinals are splashing about.
I look up at the angel and realize it’s just a baby, pure and innocent, with small rounded wings. Turning slowly, I take in the view of the house—a traditional Victorian, painted white with dark-green trim.It’s enormous, and again I feel safe, as if nothing unwelcome can touch me here. A thick hedge of pink roses lines the perimeter of the yard. It’s blooming spectacularly, and its fragrance fills me with rapture.
