Andrew awoke and, for the first time in a long time, felt no pain. In fact, he couldn’t feel his body at all. He opened his eyes and looked down, but his body wasn’t there.
He looked around. Everything was white. Nothing had form. This isn’t hospice, he thought.
He heard a voice.
“Hello, Andrew.”
The voice was warm. It was neither male nor female. He couldn't place it, yet it seemed familiar.
“Hello?” Andrew said.
Then he realized the owner of the voice was very close, though Andrew could see no one.
“Where am I?” he said.
“Where you’ve always been.”
“But I don’t know this place.”
“You did once, before you were born. You lived a long life. At first, it can be hard to remember.”
“Who are you?”
“You know me. You’ve always known me.”
“Refresh my memory.”
“Ha, ha.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know. But you do make me laugh.”
“That’s good. At least I hope it is.”
“It’s very good. When you laugh, you put aside your cares. I love that.”
“But I worried a lot.”
“A whole lot.”
“Did you still love me then?”
“I’ve always loved you.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How did I do?”
“Wonderfully.”
“Come on. Really.”
“You did the best you could.”
“But I could have done better.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t a great father. I wasn’t a great husband.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, I wasn’t very dutiful.”
“Is that what it means to be a good father or a good husband?”
“But I should have been there more.”
“You loved them, and they loved you. That is enough.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“But I haven’t always been faithful.”
“I know.”
“Oh, yeah,” Andrew said, feeling a bit self-conscious, even though he could no longer see himself.
“You think you failed, but I’ve always been with you, and I would never let you fail.”
“I didn’t achieve much, though.”
“Did you use your talent?”
“I tried.”
“That too is enough.”
“Well, I drank too much.”
“Yes, you did.”
“And I didn’t go to church much.”
“I noticed.”
“I shot a bird with a BB gun when I was a kid.”
“I know.”
“I killed the poor thing!”
“I know. I wept.”
“I’m sorry. That was wrong.”
“You were learning. Besides, I forgave you.”
Andrew thought for a moment.
“You mean none of the bad things I did in my life really mattered?”
“How did those things make you feel?”
“Bad.”
“Why?”
“Well, I guess I felt I had disappointed ... you know.”
“God?”
“Yeah.”
“But, Andrew, you are one with God.”
“I am now.”
“You always have been.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I’d known that.”
“You did.”
“When?”
“Whenever you loved someone or felt loved.”
“Those were good moments.”
“And they were just glimpses of what’s to come.”
“You mean there’s more than this?”
“Oh, yes. This has just been a conversation to get reacquainted. Would you like to see the rest?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me show you.”
He looked around. Everything was white. Nothing had form. This isn’t hospice, he thought.
He heard a voice.
“Hello, Andrew.”
The voice was warm. It was neither male nor female. He couldn't place it, yet it seemed familiar.
“Hello?” Andrew said.
Then he realized the owner of the voice was very close, though Andrew could see no one.
“Where am I?” he said.
“Where you’ve always been.”
“But I don’t know this place.”
“You did once, before you were born. You lived a long life. At first, it can be hard to remember.”
“Who are you?”
“You know me. You’ve always known me.”
“Refresh my memory.”
“Ha, ha.”
“I’m serious.”
“I know. But you do make me laugh.”
“That’s good. At least I hope it is.”
“It’s very good. When you laugh, you put aside your cares. I love that.”
“But I worried a lot.”
“A whole lot.”
“Did you still love me then?”
“I’ve always loved you.”
“Can I ask you something?”
“Sure.”
“How did I do?”
“Wonderfully.”
“Come on. Really.”
“You did the best you could.”
“But I could have done better.”
“What do you mean?”
“I wasn’t a great father. I wasn’t a great husband.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Well, I wasn’t very dutiful.”
“Is that what it means to be a good father or a good husband?”
“But I should have been there more.”
“You loved them, and they loved you. That is enough.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“But I haven’t always been faithful.”
“I know.”
“Oh, yeah,” Andrew said, feeling a bit self-conscious, even though he could no longer see himself.
“You think you failed, but I’ve always been with you, and I would never let you fail.”
“I didn’t achieve much, though.”
“Did you use your talent?”
“I tried.”
“That too is enough.”
“Well, I drank too much.”
“Yes, you did.”
“And I didn’t go to church much.”
“I noticed.”
“I shot a bird with a BB gun when I was a kid.”
“I know.”
“I killed the poor thing!”
“I know. I wept.”
“I’m sorry. That was wrong.”
“You were learning. Besides, I forgave you.”
Andrew thought for a moment.
“You mean none of the bad things I did in my life really mattered?”
“How did those things make you feel?”
“Bad.”
“Why?”
“Well, I guess I felt I had disappointed ... you know.”
“God?”
“Yeah.”
“But, Andrew, you are one with God.”
“I am now.”
“You always have been.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“I wish I’d known that.”
“You did.”
“When?”
“Whenever you loved someone or felt loved.”
“Those were good moments.”
“And they were just glimpses of what’s to come.”
“You mean there’s more than this?”
“Oh, yes. This has just been a conversation to get reacquainted. Would you like to see the rest?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me show you.”
