The Door, by Don Tassone

As I lay dying, I awoke.  My room was filled with soft white light.  In the near distance, I saw a door.

I went over, opened it and stepped through.  Looking around, I realized I was standing before my childhood home.  Everything was just as it was then, even me.

I looked back at the open door. I sensed I could close it and stay there and live my life over again.  Maybe then I could make better choices.

But I knew my choices were a part of me, and I turned around and stepped back through the door.