Reunited At Last

It won’t be long now. I know it, and so does the family surrounding my bed.

My husband, who at this moment knows who I am, doesn’t understand that the grown men beside him are his grandsons, no longer the little boys he remembers them to be.

I glance over at my son who has tears in his eyes, despite not having the connection I wish we had. He is trying to be the tough soldier he once was but I know that this isn’t easy for him. I guess there was more love there than I thought. I think that is my biggest regret. I should have fixed our relationship while I had the chance.

“I’m going to go check on the kids,” he says, wiping his tears away before exiting the room. He means my great grandbabies. They were with me earlier to say goodbye but they are too young to understand what’s happening. Instead of being in this stuffy room filled with dread and sorrow, they are in the living room watching TV. I can hear Mickey Mouse’s voice trickle in every now and then and smile to myself. I can’t think of a better sound to leave to.

I look over at my beautiful granddaughter, holding my hand. My Wubbie, my best friend. It’s hard to believe that the baby girl I once held in my arms is fifty, almost a senior herself. I worry about her the most. She has had so much loss in her life that I hate to add to it. When her husband comes in and hands her a cozy sweater and a glass of apple juice, her comfort items, I know she will be ok. He will take care of her.

With that last thought I close my eyes and drift away. I‘ve lived a good life, much longer than I expected, but I’m ready. Ready to see my parents, my nanny and papa, and my daughter. It’s been too many years without her.

— — — — — — —

When I open my eyes, I’m in an unfamiliar room covered in mostly yellow flowers, my favorite color. There are banners on some that read, “Beloved Mom” and “Greatest Nanny”. Suddenly I know where I am. This is the funeral home and I have died.

I glance down and my hands are as wrinkly as they were before. I must look the same but I don’t feel any aches and pains. I’ve lived with them for so long I forgot what it felt like to be pain free.

Most people dress the dead in their finest clothing but I’m wearing my favorite yellow outfit. I’m also not wearing a bra, which makes me chuckle. I always joked I didn’t want to be wearing that awful contraption for eternity.

I wander around the flowers, smelling their different scents and smiling at all the ribbons and cards attached to each bouquet. I’m lucky to have been surrounded by so much love in my life.

I find a door at the end of the flowers and head into a stark white room. Saying it like that makes it sound like it’s a padded cell and I’m actually in an asylum, but that’s not what this room feels like. It feels like it was made from clouds. It’s bright and airy. I feel calm, safe, and happy here.

There are many people around that I don’t recognize. It seems to be some sort of connection point. People are hugging and crying, reunited at last. I look around and don’t see any familiar faces. Maybe they just aren’t here yet? I wait around watching other families and I can’t help but smile. Surely, my family will show up soon.

I sit and wait.

Many families come and go, with new ones replacing them, but I still don’t see anyone I know. Did this happen to my Jennifer? Did she arrive to find no one waiting for her?

No, I can’t think like that. I have to believe my daddy found her. He would never have let either of us down. We were his girls.

I wait a little longer before finally giving up. If they aren’t coming to me, I will go to them! I head through the door that all of the families went through and start my search.

I’m standing in a long hall with too many doors to count on either side of me. Maybe I will find my family through one of them? I really hope I do. I fear that this place is too large and I never will, but I have to try.

Between each door there appear to be photos of my life. The first photo I see is of me in my daddy’s arms, little baby Lois. The second is a group of us: me, my husband, granddaughter, and her husband. I’m seventy-three, in Greece for vacation and the sun is setting behind us. To my left, there is a photo of me hugging Mickey Mouse and another of holding my first grandson.

I wonder what everyone is doing now. I’m sure they are mourning, but I hope they aren’t letting the grief swallow them whole.

The first door I come to says “Cinelife” on it. The first thing I notice is the smell of buttery popcorn, reminding me of the many movies I have seen in the theatre. The room is empty aside from a giant screen, a recliner, and a small table. On the table sits a fountain drink, a bag of popcorn and a remote.

I sit in the chair and examine the remote. My family always jokes about my incompetence with technology but luckily it’s exactly like the one I had at home, so I know how to use it. I push ‘power’ and the screen lights up. A movie starts to play. It seems to be about people in a nursing home. There are a couple of old men playing chess, and women circled together knitting. I hear his laugh before I see him. My husband sits with a group of men each telling stories of their life. I wait until the end of his story, a sadder one about his escape from Hungary when he was just a boy.

I click the channel-up button and my grandson’s face fills the screen. He sits in a rocking chair with his baby girl in his arms, singing a lullaby. The next channel has his brother playing a video game. In the next, my sister is at the hair salon. Then, my brother watches his grandson work on a vintage car. I switch channels again, this time it’s only a photo of my son on the screen. I’m confused at first but then an alert pops up that says, “Sorry, Robert’s content is not appropriate for your viewing at this time.”, with an image of a shower head. Weird.

It’s at that moment I realize what I’m watching. The old saying “they are always with you” comes to mind. These aren’t movies, they are windows into the lives of my loved ones. It’s what they are doing right now.

I switch it again and there is Jamie. Jennifer’s daughter. My granddaughter. She’s at Disney World watching the fireworks, tears streaming down her face and I can’t help my own tears that spill as well.

“I love you Wubbie,” I whisper, and hope that somehow it reaches her.

I get up from the recliner and continue my search through the corridor, opening door after door. One door reveals a room to travel anywhere you want to go. Another, a library that rivals the one in Beauty and the Beast. The next, a dining table filled with food based on just your thoughts alone.

Down and down the corridor I go. No parents. No Papa. No Jennifer.

The next room I come to opens up to what looks like a park with a hiking trail. There is a sign that reads “A Walk To Remember”. I start walking and come to a glass exhibit that reminds me of the zoo. However, inside isn’t an animal. It’s a memory. I look to be about six years old, feeding chipmunks with my Nanny and Papa. The memory makes me smile, but it doesn’t stop the sadness over not finding them here yet.

A couple feet down is another exhibit. This one has a little girl running into my arms at the airport. So many beautiful memories depicting the wonderful life I lived. I’m glad this room exists. This might be the only way I get to be with those I’ve lost.

I’ve reached the end of the corridor. I’ve opened countless doors, and still haven’t come across another person. By now, the panic has begun to sink in. I’m standing in front of the last door. What if I never find her? Heaven isn’t heaven without her.

I take a deep breath and slowly open the door. The warm glow of a fireplace hits my face. I enter the room and it feels homey, with a large sofa and a program playing on the television. There’s a woman facing away from me, but I immediately recognize the bob that I loved so much. Her last hair cut before she lost it all.

Suddenly, barking draws my attention to a small Maltipoo uncurling by her feet. It’s Dixie! My dog who I lost several years after my daughter. I burst into tears and it’s then that the woman turns around, her eyes lighting up with recognition.

“Mommy!” She jumps up and runs into my arms, Dixie yapping excitedly at our feet.

Cancer may have stolen her from me after only thirty-six years, but it didn’t win. It could never because my baby is back in my arms. Together again. Forever.