"Dying isn't the hard part," He tells you. You're inclined to agree. It was rather anti-climactic, actually, death. There wasn't a great white light or a shining door to pass through. No gates or tunnels. Just a quiet moment of acceptance. In your case, there wasn't really any pain, even.
"It's different for everyone," He explains. You don't fail to note that you didn't voice your thoughts; He seems to know what you're thinking. You've not said a word since you were alive. Alive. Living. Breathing. Looking down to your chest, you notice you've not taken a single breath since you arrived here.
You suck some air in experimentally. It feels foreign and unnecessary so you stop.
He just chuckles and shakes his head. Laughter sounds odd to you while you're still accepting your lifeless state. It makes you want to giggle; see what it feels like. See if you can feel anything other than this cold detachment. You don't feel anything. Maybe mild confusion.
He frowns, "You felt nothing in your passing." He sighs, which just sounds odd, "Means you got a long way to go, Rachel."
You don't follow, so you just don't respond. You don't even question how He knows your name when you barely remember it yourself. You have a feeling He knows a great deal of things you don't. Do you even know anything about yourself?
You think you used to talk a lot. The memories are there, but they're distant. You feel like everything is moving so slowly, like the life you had is there but just out of your reach. It's almost palpable. Like you could reach out and touch what you once had, if only you knew where to look.
You remember air. That's all for now and it makes you feel like crying. Or you think it should, but it doesn't. The confusion is just getting worse.
He puts a hand on your shoulder. Fatherly, you think. You close your eyes and remember. Fathers. You had two dads. You feel that.
"Come on, it's starting." He guides you away from where you've been standing for.. You don't know how long it's been. You don't know how time works here. Wherever you are. You look for what you're walking toward, but there's nothing. You can't even describe the place, because that's it. Nothing. Empty. There's no colours or lights, it's almost like you're suspended in a state of being. Unaffected, confused.
"Are you ready?" He looks at you expectantly.
"For what?" The sound coming from your mouth shocks you and you remember what you sounded like. What you still sound like. Speech. Voice. Singing. You think you were maybe a singer.
"An incredible one," He smiles. "After we die, we forget. Everything. We can't think the way we used to. We just feel. It's a new journey, but we have to revisit our old one. We leave a great feeling of loss behind. And we have to deal with that, before.."
"I felt nothing. Before what?"
He just smiles and you think what you're feeling was called frustration. Or perhaps it was anger. He doesn't move His lips to speak this time, but you hear Him perfectly still and you wonder why He spoke in the first place, if it was redundant.
Rachel, there are things you can't know yet. I can tell you what will happen now though.
You turn to face Him beside you again but He's gone. You look around, knowing you won't find Him. Knowing you're alone.
Not alone. You'll never quite be alone. When a person dies, the people left behind expel a great wave of negative energy. The energy needs to go somewhere, and we must take care of it. We have to feel that ourselves, before.
It shouldn't make sense to you. None of this should make sense to you, but you nod anyway.
You felt nothing in your passing. I'm afraid that means your next step is going to be painful. You'll cope. You'll be scared by the weight of it. It'll overwhelm you, but you'll be okay when you realise the benefit of taking it away. Trust me.
You realise you're slowly piecing things together. You know you have to feel the pain you've caused in your passing, and He's right; you're scared. You understand, but you're still daunted by the mere prospect. Going back to face the grief. You're going to feel their pain. All of it.
Not all at once. You visit them separately.
You want to know who 'them' refers to. You've barely remembered your fathers. You don't know who else there is waiting.
"You aren't coming, are you?" You know the answer, but you ask anyway.
This is your experience, Rachel. I've completed this part of my journey. You'll be okay.
Your mind races with possibilities; you were going to visit the people who'd been in your life. Would they be able to see you? Could they hear you? Who were you even going to?
It's complicated. Just wait and see. And then He was gone. You could feel His absence just as physically as you felt Him standing next to you. You take a step forward, wondering if it classed as a step back. Back to Earth. Back to your dads.