A/N: as you read this, please listen to the song No Hard Feelings by the Avett Brothers (and try not to cry, I dare you).

When my body won't hold me anymore
And it finally lets me free
Will I be ready?

-o-o-o-

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

It's been said that people's lives flash before a person's eyes before they die. It's also been said that people have an out of body experience when they die. Yet another source claims that death is just like sleeping. Or that death is like seeing a light. Or that, in death, one will meet God.

But to Jean, it felt like falling down an endless dark tunnel.

Until it abruptly stopped.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

That day had started normally. She woke up, got dressed, saw Atticus off to work and Jem to school. But, when she went to wake Jean Louise up (the blessed girl was the only member of the Finch family who knew how to sleep past 7 am), she noticed something was off. Not wrong. Just off.

Her knees shook as she walked and her heart beat quickly, as though a surge of anxiety was rushing through her. Too much coffee, she decided quickly, brushing it off. She was already on her fourth cup of the morning (she couldn't help it, she loved the stuff), and she probably consumed it too quickly.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

She found herself struggling to pick her youngest child up. The two-year-old felt weighted down, far heavier than her twenty-five pounds. Even removing the girl from her crib made Jean lose her breath. The child giggled, her small palms clasping her mother's face, thinking it was a joke.

So, Jean pretended it was.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

By the time Jean settled her namesake in her high chair for breakfast, she was panting. Knowing Cal would suspect something was wrong, Jean held her breath in an attempt to stifle the sound of her breathing, feeling her heart pound furiously within her chest.

After what seemed to be an eternity, Jean exhaled loudly, coughing as her lungs struggled to take in air they were deprived.

But after a few minutes, her breathing did not calm. Her chest rose and fell quickly, her knees shaking so badly she thought she would collapse. Too much coffee, she continued to think. It must be stronger than usual.

When she was finally able to focus on something else, she noticed Cal looking at her, her eyes wide with concern. Jean smiled, though perhaps it was a grimace, "I think I'm comin' down with a cold or somethin'," she said quickly. "My chest is mighty congested."

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Her day progressed as it usually would. She played with Jean Louise on the living room floor, imitating various animals and laughing as her daughter imitated her. She stuck her daughter in her high chair as she prepared biscuits for the rest of the week and polished the dining room furniture. Finally, when Jean Louise was no longer content with sitting still and started to get restless, Jean collected her daughter with difficulty and rocked her until Jean Louise's big brown eyes could hardly stay open.

All the while, her shaking knees and racing heart persisted.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Jean thought that, perhaps with the baby down and a moment to sit still, she would begin to feel better. She kicked her house shoes off and laid on the stiff sofa that had been a gift from Alexandra, her eyes shut, trying to calm the beating of her heart.

But it didn't work.

She tried to think to herself – was there something that she should be worrying about? Jean Louise seemed fine. Jem was thriving in school. Cal seemed content. Everything was fine in her personal sphere. She decided it had to be because Atticus not only had a big case coming up, but he would also be going to Montgomery soon for a full week.

Jean couldn't help it – Atticus spending so much time away from her and the children made her nervous. It brought her back to her childhood. After her mother's death when she was five, it was just her, her father and her brother. But, if she really thought about it, it was just her and her brother. Her father was a man devoted to his work and little else, spending long hours in his office or away conducting business. His absence made her anxious, and because of that, the anxiety transferred to Atticus whenever he was absent.

Though, it wasn't as though he was absent all of the time. She really was foolish for comparing Atticus to her father, but she supposed it was an inevitable consequence of a lonely childhood.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

She finally determined that her shakiness and restlessness was simply a result of her husband being so busy. It was hard on him, too, and although she knew he'd never admit it, she knew that Atticus' responsibilities took their toll on him. He was a man who cared so much about his community and his clients that he nearly drove himself sick to make sure he did everything in his power to work for their interest. His worries were merely transferring onto her, she decided, and once these next few weeks were over, everything would be normal again.

"Mama?"

Jean nearly jumped out of her skin, setting her heart beating faster and faster. Opening her eyes, she noticed Jem standing over her, his face close to hers. Her surprise startled him, and she could see his eyes growing wider. Quickly, she cupped his face in her hands. "You just surprised me," she told him, her voice shaking. "I was just restin' my eyes."

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Each afternoon played out the same way once Jem came home from school. Jem would sit and do his homework while Scout played, and Jean would help with dinner until it was time for Atticus to come home. Now that Jem was old enough to go to school, he was given permission to meet Atticus at the end of the block and walk him home, all while Jean waited on the porch for them.

Today was a little nervous. An hour before Atticus was set to come home, the walls began to close in on Jean, and she found herself growing flushed as she felt a twinge in her chest. "I'm gonna get some air, Cal," she said mindlessly, putting the piece of linen down without folding it, and walking outside.

Sitting on her usual rocking chair, Jean rubbed at her chest, her breathing growing unsteady.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Jean thought all death look the same. It was some prolonged illness that slowly consumed a person until it finally decided to claim a person's life. Starting from a young age, Jean and her brother knew mama's heart was sick, and that she wouldn't be around for long. From the time she was a young child, Jean knew all too well about death and how it physically manifested itself.

Despite the fact that Jean was only five when her mama died, she knew that her impending death angered her mother. I haven't had enough time, she heard mama crying to nurses and friends. It isn't fair.

Her mother barely wanted to see Jean and her brother as her disease took over. To Jean's mother, it wasn't fair that her children would be able to live full lives when hers was cut so short. Her mother grew resentful towards her father, jealous that it was her, and not him that was dying.

Jean remembered being little, pressing her ear up against the bedroom door, hearing her mama crying and begging to God or to some higher power, pleading for her life.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Jean she thought she was safe. She thought that since she wasn't physically ill for a long time like her mother was, then the heart disease had skipped over her.

But she didn't realize she was wrong before it was too late.

As the twinge in her chest intensified into pain, she attempted to call out. As she felt her body no longer able to hold herself in her chair, she attempted to cry for help.

But nothing came.

Instead, she fell.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

Falling.

As she fell and the world grew dark around her, plummeting her in what felt like a long, endless tunnel, she did not feel the anger and despair that her mother had before her. As the world rushed past her, she knew what was coming was inevitable, and anger wasn't the last feeling she wanted to experience.

While it may not be fair that she would have to leave the life she loved behind – to leave Atticus and her children and the life she built for herself – she wasn't angry, she wasn't jealous, she wasn't upset.

She was at peace. She welcomed what was to come with open arms.

And then, the world stopped.