A good friend of mine passed away this last weekend. She worked with MK's...those with learning disabilities. She had a passion for the job, and took it very seriously. She would fight tooth and nail with anyone who disregarded or mistreated any of these kids, and she worked hard to educate those who worked with them. She didn't, however, take herself too seriously. She was always good for a laugh, and it was infectious. She was also a realist, like me. Whenever things seemed too serious, she had a way of putting them in perspective, and it lightened things up.
My daughter and I were sitting and crying last weekend after we heard the news. We were taking in the shock of someone dying in their prime, and just the fact that she is no longer here. But suddenly, we were struck with her realistic nature and we started thinking about what she would be saying to us right now. Over the past few days I've imagined the following scenerio:
Andrea comes to, her eyes slowly opening. She's noticing she can breathe freely again. What a relief. She sits up and begins to take in her surroundings.
"Huh?" she says, as she notices she is in unfamiliar territory. "Oh," she exclaims as she looks around, "Wow." The realization hits her that she no longer has an earthly body, and neither does the boy standing beside her.
"Hi. I'm Chris," he says.
"Hi," she says. "You're Stacy's brother. I've heard so much about you."
"Stand up," Chris says. "Wait till you see what it feels like to walk around in this body!"
Andrea laughs. She stands up, a little wobbly at first, mainly because she was expecting it to be a lot harder.
"Look there," he points in the distance. She looks at the spot, and magically it pulls in closer. She can see her friends, and they're crying. She can look in any direction, and her friends, family and loved ones appear. They are all sad. Andrea watches them. She's concerned for them, but she's not sad. She's not crying. She can see things she's never seen before. She knows they will be OK. She knows how this plan that has played out in her life and death will affect her loved ones, and it gives her peace, perspective. Then, curiosity sets in.
"What can we do with these bodies?" She asks.
"Watch this." says Chris, and with that he jumps onto a 10 foot wall surrounding their new golden home.
"Cool. Let me try." And with that she jumps on the wall, too, taking time to catch her balance. "I'm new at this," she says, and gives Chris a sheepish glance. They sit on the wall, their feet dangling, Andrea taking in the view of her loved ones.
She hears their cries, their sadness. She can only take it so long. "Oh, stop it!" she yells. She's hoping they can hear her at some subconscious level. "Really. You guys need to get a grip! You know where I am."
Chris looks at her and reassures her. "They'll be like this for a day or two, then they'll laugh again. They'll remember the good stuff, not your death. Just give them time."
"Yeah, I guess you're right," she says.
A light shines on them from behind. It's brighter than anything she's ever known, yet she can see. Her new eyes can behold this light.
"Look over there," whispers Chris. "It's Him."
Andrea turns and looks, a wide smile crossing her face. "Hi."
