Til we meet again - Part 1

 I no longer fear death. In fact, I welcome it with open arms. Therewas a time when I was afraid of death. I hated it for what it tookfrom me. For the near and dear I no longer could hold close. When thecold embrace of death was an impenetrable wall between us. But now.Now I understand. The embrace isn’t cold. It isn’t frighteningand it doesn’t hurt. The fact is, that when my soul leaves my bodyin the middle of the night it feels as if I enter a warm bath after along day out in a blizzard. I fall asleep at night and at 04.37 AM Ifind myself standing beside the bed, watching my own body. On the opposite side of the bed is a manin a well-fitted, pinstriped suit. He looks at me with kind, blueeyes. Darkness envelops him like a velvet cloak, tendrils of shadowand night steal the faint moonlight seeping in through the bedroomwindow. I should be afraid. But he radiates such warmth that I cannothelp but feel safe in his presence. “Is it time?” “I am sorry.” His voice is as smoothand calm as the darkness surrounding him. “What happens now?” Instead of giving me an answer, he reachesout his hand towards me. After a moment of hesitation, I take it. Itis warm and dry. The bedroom dissolves around us and I feel as if I’mon a roller coaster. We travel through what I assume is time andspace. Swirls of colour whirl by, images I don’t manage to catch, athousand different scents hit me all at once. My feet land on thewooden floor of my childhood bedroom. The headboard of my white brassbed is pressed up against the wall. It is unmade and the blanket ishaphazardly thrown over it. The corner drapes down the side and ontothe floor. The sunbeams falling through the lace curtains paintpatterns all over the floor. The air smells distinctly of freshlyharvested hay. In the distance I can hear the sound of an engine.Suddenly a voice I haven’t heard in thirty years makes its way upthe stairs.