Death Comes Softly

My deathbed held me, restlessly sleeping with fitful dreams. Here, worries came to life in my head. No longer did I fret about dating, makeup, and dance class. Now, my slumber was filled with fears about my parents fighting over my death, with my brother failing to get into college and scary notions of what would happen to me. When I died, would I go to heaven?  Be shamed at the pearly gates? Surrounded by demons? Maybe I’d be in purgatory, invisible to all whom I loved. What could I do with that? Haunt them? That did not seem fun. 

I awoke to the sound of my mother weeping and my father mumbling prayers. My loud, constant wheezing almost drowned out the sounds of their emotions. Hospice had recently visited. They thought I was asleep, but I heard the nurse say, “She’ll be at peace soon.”  

My fifteen years had been filled with church camps, friends, great food, and stories. I had loved the dancing and ghost stories. But all of this had come to a screeching halt six months ago with one word. Cancer. Ever since that day, my life went from fun to difficult. Even when I still felt well, everyone around me changed and treated me as if I were fragile. When it was time to hold my weak arms, or wipe my bald head, many of my friends disappeared. Not that I could blame them. What would I have done had I been the healthy one with hormones and energy? 

My parents didn’t notice I was awake.  They were caught up in grieving my upcoming death. A shimmer in the corner caught my eye. Squinting, I could see the light came from a beautiful glowing woman smiling at me. I shook my head in disbelief and took a deep breath. I blinked. She was still there. 

My mother noticed my movement and grabbed my hand “Rest now honey, it’s all okay.” I squeezed her hand and went back to looking into the corner. The woman drifted toward the bed and put her hand on my chest. My parents didn’t seem to notice. Could they see her?

“Are you ready?” she asked. 

I hesitated to answer. I had grown accustomed to not being able to speak due to tubes and lack of energy.  

“I’m afraid,” I said, grateful I could speak again. “I’m baptized, but I’m not sure I believe in God.” 

“Do you believe in love?” She reached both her hands out to me, out clearly beckoning me to join her.

“Yes.” I drifted up to the ceiling with her. Below, I saw my parents holding their vigil of love at my bedside. My brother sat in the hall weeping along with a few of his friends with their arms wrapped around him. I smiled. “I see love below me.”

Her glowing spirit wrapped around me, engulfing me in her light.  

I felt peace. I felt love. I knew then, that I am love.