I watch myself as I leave my wife and daughter behind.  Tears fill their red eyes.  They stay silent and stare at me as I’m ushered into the light.  Two angels carry me away with them; big strong men, beautifully draped in white.  I never thought dying would be this glorious.  My family looks on sullenly as I drift away from them, further, further away.    

Memories relax me, but only for a moment.  I see myself as a foolish youth, and again as a man.  The contrast is startling.  Where did it all go?  This seems to be too soon.  I see my wedding.  I see my parents’ deaths.  Most importantly, I see my daughter’s birth.  Her eyes locked on mine, and I swallowing my tears.

All that is gone now.  I’m being slowly ushered into the afterlife.

I reach Heaven.  It’s not soft clouds and paradise, or at least not from what I see.  It’s very bureaucratic.  Desks, computers, warm paper, and a soft white buzzing glow fill the room I’m in.  The angels greet with a smile.  They drift in and out, all looking very similar, handsome, pretty, wearing different garbs of white.  I feel the least angelic thing here.  I feel out of place, alone.  Should I be here?  Is this just the judgement of my life as a sum of events?  Have I been a good enough person to be ushered into paradise?

My heart is in my throat.  Doubt and fear now cloud my thought.  I feel like I’m an imposter.  I pray God doesn’t make an example out of me.  That’s my luck, that even after dying I can’t do it right.

My angel guides return to me after a brief moment of chatting with their own like.

“This way.”

I obediently follow them to an empty room.  They remove my burdensome earthly clothing, and hand me white robes.  I can’t quite tell the material, but they feel soft against my skin.  Maybe I’m supposed to be here after all.

We move into another room.  It’s soft.  High above me shines the bright light of Heaven through a small window.  This must be some sort of waiting room.  I feel watched, but don’t care.  God is everywhere, but only in Heaven can you truly feel the potency of his omnipresence.  The soft room grows boring, but I amuse myself with thoughts of my past life, my pre-angelic life.  I almost miss it.  I almost miss the sunrises and sunsets.  I almost miss the sun baking my skin into a dark tan.  I almost miss the love of my wife.  I almost, no, I do miss my daughter.  I can’t get over her.  There’s no way to put her out of my head.  Those beautiful eyes staring back at me.

God comes to the door.  He has an air of honour, of strength, or respect about him. 

“May I come in?”

“Of course, this is your kingdom.” 

I need to tell him how I miss my daughter.  Maybe he’ll send me back.  Maybe there’s still a chance.  I’ve never been assertive enough with humans to ask for what I want, how will I ask God?  He probably already knows, he is all-knowing.

“Uh…  God?  I was kinda hoping I could go back to my family.  I don’t think I can leave them just yet.”

I lower my eyes in the shame of asking for such.  My face feels feverish red.  I can’t look God in the eyes.

“You know that that’s not possible.”

“Please!  You have the power to do that.  Just snap your fingers and send me home.  I can’t be away from my daughter.”

I find myself on my knees grovelling, the natural position to be before the Lord.

“Please, stand up.  We can’t do that.  You know that.”

Incomprehensible sobs and squeaks leave my mouth as I face the reality of my situation.  God leaves me be.  What I thought was just a waiting room turns out to be my room.  I was hoping it was just a waiting room while I wait for my wings.  Maybe it still is.  They probably needed to size me up to get them just right, have them match my physique.  But wouldn’t they already know?  Maybe people just shrink in heaven.  Maybe it depends on the size of my soul, because I suppose that is all that’s left of me, and my body is just an image used to represent that. 

I wait for what seems like hours.  No one comes to visit, and I’m in such grievous depression that I sprawl across the floor forgetting my hopes and dreams from life.

God returns.  With him, two angels, and in their arms shimmer my white wings.  They look beautiful. 

“Put them on me!  I can’t wait!”

I spread my arms, and the angels wrestle the wings on to me.  There’s a small amount of pain, and they’re fairly constricting, but they make me feel beautiful.  I wish I had a mirror to see them, but I can use my imagination.

“We have something we would like to show you.”  God says with pleasant tone.

I follow him out the hall and into a large room filled with angels.  Some have their wings, some don’t, they’re all coming and going, doing their own tasks.  I tell the wingless ones that it’s worth the wait. 

Suddenly, my heart stops.  I’m lead face to face with my daughter.

“You asked about her, so here she is.”  God says with a sinister smile.

“No!  No!  You took her life?!  You can’t do this!  Put her back!  Put her back!”  I wail, I scream, I moan.

I kick my legs, but two angles restrain me.  If I only knew how to use these wings properly I could take her back to earth.  If I could only fight the force of these lumbering angels I could take my daughter back to earth, back to life.  As I fight and scream she just looks at me.  It’s that stoic poker face that her mother taught her. 

I keep my eyes locked on hers as the angels usher me back to my room.  I feel a prick of pain in my back.  God stays with my daughter.  As I am hauled away I hear him say to her:

“I’m sorry.  He appears to be too delusional.  We’ll have to sedate him.  I figured if he saw you it would be easier to cope with the…”