Afterlife

So I died a few minutes ago,

and I’m not really sure what to do now?

I had been lying on a small white bed,

inclined slightly

in a dimly lit hospital room.

A whiteboard once had “recovery goals” written on it,

and those were now erased.

“Pain free” were the only words that remained.

A machine that had once been beeping rapidly

now pinged slowly and sporadically.

Someone gripped my thin, cold hand.

I don’t remember if it was someone I had loved

or a kind nurse or a priest.

I shuddered,

and I closed my eyes for just a moment.

A blink,

and now I’m here.

Miles and miles away, I think.

I don’t know where I am.

I don’t really know who I am

or if anyone can see me.

I am standing on a hill above a vast green field.

The land is a quilt made of emerald, gold, shamrock and sage-colored patches.

Clusters of trees dot the landscape.

I can see a long, low wall fashioned of round gray stones far in the distance.

A few muddy white sheep are grazing nearby,

indifferent to my presence or non-presence.

I would guess this was Heaven,

except it’s kind of cold and rainy.
It’s beautiful,

if you’re not a city person or a beach person.

No mountains or anything,

but it’s fine.

I take a few tentative steps.

Am I in Yorkshire?  Or Wisconsin?

This grassy people-less landscape stretches as far as I can see.

There are dark gray threatening clouds above.

Raindrops are streaming down my face.

Can’t see through my glasses.

Do I still need my glasses?

Yes.  Yes, I do.

I find a winding dirt path that stretches clear to the horizon

and have no choice but to follow it.