New Life

All of his life he had had dreams, dreams that felt real, as real as the waking moments he lived daily. Most of the dreams were unremarkable but it was the others that had always made him think. It took years for him to realize that they were visions, visions of things yet to come. At first they were about minor things like bumping into a friend or a conversation with a co-worker, but later in life as he got older they became deeper. He had visions of his wife coming to him announcing her pregnancies, the death of her father and the last one, which he had years later, was that of his own death.  The vision was bright and very vivid; and although he didn’t know when exactly it would be, he knew that it wasn’t too far off. He could always remember the time of day, the location, what he was wearing and how it would happen. He told his friends about the dreams and they brushed them off as craziness. His wife quickly dismissed them saying she didn’t want to hear or think about such things. He understood her reaction but felt like he needed to talk to someone about it, so he called up a psychiatrist and made an appointment, he thought that maybe a doctor could help put them into perspective.

The waiting room was pretty standard: couch, two armchairs, an end table which held a lamp on top and a coffee table with a wide variety of slightly out of date magazines. He played a game on his phone as he waited patiently for his name to be called. After a few minutes a middle-aged man walked out of the exit door sobbing and clutching a handful of Kleenex tissues. A voice from behind a thin pane of glass looked out into the waiting room advised him that the doctor would see him now. He stood, shoved his phone into his pocket and walked to the door that led to the doctor’s office. He was greeted by a woman who looked to be in her early forties standing in the hallway waiting for him. She extended her hand and announced herself as Dr. Williams. He walked through the threshold into the office and took a seat on the couch as he was advised to do.

As he sat on the leather couch in the shrink’s office he finally heard his own words and understood them. He had told others, sure, and even though he had thought about it, he had never spoken them out loud for himself to hear. As he spoke, he began to wonder something new; if he somehow prevented his own death would it cause a Back To The Future type dilemma where changing something in his current timeline would affect his future life? He laughed on the inside, “maybe I watch too many movies” he thought. He finished speaking as the shrink sat there looking at him intently.

“Many people have dreams about things that they cannot explain,” she said. “Many people also experience moments in day-to-day life that they dream of, this is not uncommon but I must say I have never had anyone come to me and say they have dreamed of their own death.”

He squinted his eyes a little as if the light coming from the lamp on her desk was suddenly blinding him, he knew what she was going to say.

“But...there is nothing that you can offer me except maybe I am stressed with the idea of getting older, coming to grips with my own mortality, that kind of thing?”

“Yes, exactly.  Most people, when they reach a certain age, start thinking about getting older, worrying about the future, kids’ college funds, daughters’ weddings, retirement and even death. All of this is perfectly normal,” she said as she clicked her pen to retract the ink cartridge back into its housing and closed her notebook.

“Thank you for taking the time to see me today,” he said as he stood and extended his hand to shake hers.

“Thank you for coming in, and if there is anything I can ever help with, please feel free to schedule an appointment and come back in. Debbie the receptionist can help you with that,” she said as she opened the door from her office to the waiting area.

He sat in his car and laughed out loud a little as he thought about his Marty McFly moment, and as he thought about what she had said, he realized that it made perfect sense. He was getting older and still did have a lot to look forward to in the future. He started his car and put on his seatbelt and wondered what he would do with the rest of his day off of work. It wasn’t yet time for lunch so he decided to go to the driving range and hit a bucket of balls and relax. He turned on his iPod, selected a playlist to listen to, set it to shuffle and placed the car in drive.

The parking lot was practically empty when he arrived with only a few cars and trucks parked mainly in front of the practice green. He parked his SUV and opened the back to put on his golf shoes, grab his clubs and made his way into the clubhouse. The attendant was sitting behind a wooden counter watching the sixth showing of that morning’s broadcast of ESPN and sipping a Powerade. He was an older gentleman wearing a polo shirt tucked into his khaki shorts, old sneakers and a gray visor that looked a little too small for his head as his white hair seemed about to burst from beneath the strap in the back.

“Morning sir, how can I help you this morning?” the attendant asked in a pleasant voice.

“Good morning, sir, I would just like to hit a bucket of balls to loosen up and relax if that’s at all possible.”

“Sure thing young man, that’ll be nine fifty.”

He paid and took six steps toward the door when it hit him, he remembered this interaction from a dream he’d had a few months before. Although this time it wasn’t going exactly the same as he’d seen in his vision, so he shook it off and proceeded to the range with his bucket of balls in his left hand and golf bag slung over his right shoulder. He settled in a spot nearest to where he had parked for a hasty exit. His stomach was growling and he would need to tame the hunger sooner than later.

The last ball left the ground and flew straight, landed and then bounced near the two hundred twenty yard marker, then rolled a few more yards before coming to a stop. It felt good, his swing, the club in his hands; the shot was crisp and clean, just the way to finish up before lunch. There was a spring in his step, he was completely relaxed and ready to eat; he needed this day. He walked back to his vehicle, changed shoes, stored his clubs in the back and headed to one of his favorite restaurants. As he was driving he called his wife to ask if she wanted to meet for lunch, but she declined saying her day was packed with work and just couldn’t get away.

Entering the restaurant he knew exactly what he wanted to eat: a bacon cheeseburger with a fried egg and goat cheese with fries and maybe a few beers to go with it. The TVs showed different sports programs and music played over speakers throughout. A greeter met him at the door and showed him to a booth and placed food and drink menus on the table. When the waitress came over he ordered an appetizer of fried pickles and a seasonal draft beer. As she was leaving the table he stood and walked to the restroom to relieve himself and wash his hands. As he dried his hands he looked into the mirror and realized today was the day.

It hadn’t dawned on him until now, that today was the day he would die. He was wearing the same clothing, eating in the same restaurant, and sitting at the same table as he had been in the dream. His food was on the table waiting for him when he returned, but he didn’t immediately place his napkin in his lap and grab his drink, instead he sat there and pondered how he should respond to his realization. He knew now what was going to happen when he left and headed home but didn’t know what he should do. Should he go about his business normally or take a different approach and change his route home, stay longer at the restaurant than he should or stop by the mall and do some shopping? The waitress came back and he ordered his entree which consisted of a burger and another beer and side of ranch dressing. To the mall he decided, he needed to pick up a few gifts and maybe splurge on an item or two, anything to kill time. He ate the rest of the pickles and the burger showed up, it was delicious and exactly what he needed. He finished his beer and paid the tab and left for the mall.

Pulling out of the parking lot he decided to call his wife to ask if there were anything he could pick up for her on the way home. She asked for a few items at the grocery store and for him to hurry home. The last words he heard her say were “I love you and miss you more than usual today” before the semi truck hit him head-on, sending shattered glass flying, twisting the metal of his Chevy SUV. His head whipped quickly back and forth, his body vaulted forward, snapping his neck on impact. After the two vehicles had come to a stop in the middle of the intersection, his door fell open and his body dropped to the street below.

He was dead, he had made the wrong decision or had he? Would it have mattered what he decided to do after leaving the restaurant? Anyone can be killed at any time by any sort of accident. It didn’t matter anymore did it? No. As his physical body lay on the hot midday pavement his essence, his spirit, his being, whatever you want to call it, had already left his body. He didn’t float above himself in ghostly form looking down, it was instantaneous. He wasn’t asleep nor was he awake, but he knew he had to open his eyes and he did to find himself in a dark room looking into multiple large screens that played out his life like a movie. There was one screen displaying images for every year that he had been alive. Forty four screens in total and it wasn’t like the movies -- his life wasn’t flashing before his eyes, it was playing slowly. He was seeing his birth, all the joy, all the pain, all the heartbreak and even his death scroll by slowly like the way the ticker does at the bottom of news broadcasts. Smiles crossed his face and tears filled his eyes.

The screens went out, a white light engulfed the room and he heard a voice speak.

"Hello."

"Hello?" he replied back sheepishly, wiping the tears from his eyes and cheeks.

"Are you okay?" asked the voice.

"Where am I? Who are you? What is this place?"

"This is the afterlife, the place all things go when the energy has left a living being," replied the voice. "I am your guide."

The voice was soft and gentle. To him it sounded a little older, like a grandmother consoling a grandchild.

"Where are you? Why can't I see you?"

"I can take a physical form if you'd like. Would that put you more at ease?"

"Yes, please. That would be nice."

A human figure manifested six feet in front of him out of small balls of light that he hadn't noticed before. It was the form of an elderly woman, short in height, graying brown hair, blue eyes and relatively tall, maybe 5'10". She was dressed all in black, a total contrast to their surroundings. She walked toward him and again said, "Hello."

"Hi," he responded, feeling more comfortable now that he thought as though he was speaking to another person. “Why do I need a guide?” he asked genuinely puzzled by her statement. “Aren’t I dead? Isn’t this the end of the road for me? What more is there?  I’m sorry for all the questions, I’ve never been dead before.”

She laughed, “It’s quite alright, no one shows up knowing all they need to know. Some people do actually catch on rather quickly, but only because of something they read in a journal written by a survivor about what it’s like when you die”.

“So I can go back?” he asked with hope in his voice.

“Some people can go back to the lives they left, yes, but you, I’m sorry to say, cannot due to the nature of your death. You were killed in a traffic accident, there were major internal injuries to your organs and your neck was broken….”

“Okay I got it, please stop,” he said, interrupting her. “I’m sorry, that was rude.”

The look on his face had gone from hopeful to devastated in a matter of seconds. He didn’t know what to think anymore. He closed his eyes to relax, but when he did, he couldn’t hear or feel his heart beating. His head dropped, chin touching his chest, he then opened his eyes and spoke softly, “What are my options?”

“First let me explain, to give you a better idea of how it works,” she said, motioning him over closer to her and taking his hands in hers.

“Everything is made up of energy. From the tiniest atom to the largest animal, energy courses through us all; we feel it every time we touch something, we may not know we feel it, but we do. Energy is life,” she explained as he stood there looking intently at her. “Energy never dies, everyone can go back, but not all can go back in the same way. You can go back, but it would have to be as an animal or a new person, born as a baby to a deserving person and raised by them. If you were to choose this option there is the chance that you would have visions or dreams of the person you were in your past life, this is actually quite common in children, but as you grow older the memories would fade, making room for the new memories you would be creating.”

He stopped her there to ask, “What kind of animal can I be? If I were an animal, could I choose to be a dog, or cat or even a bird?” His expression was now gaining a look of excitement that could not be hidden.

“Oh yes, you may certainly choose what you become, but you must choose wisely,” she said as looked at him, knowing surely what he would ask next. “You may also choose where you go.”

This news excited him as he knew exactly what he wanted and where he wanted to be. They spoke for a very long time with her finishing the explanation of how energy works, the rules and life and death in general. He told her what he wanted and it seemed to her the greatest idea she had heard in a long while. He was full of love and she could see that.

“Alright are you ready?” she asked.

“Yes, I’m ready,”  he acknowledged nodding his head slowly.

Bright white light washed over the room and he was gone. When he opened his eyes again he thought he was lying down as he was close to the ground, but the pressure on his hands and feet told him that he wasn’t. He heard children’s laughter and voices in the distance and immediately headed in that direction. The closer he got to them, the more sure he was of whom he heard. There in the front yard were his children and his wife, sitting in the grass, drawing on large pieces of paper with charcoal pencils. He was panting as his paws ran him into the yard tail wagging and ears flopping in the breeze of his sprint.