You can take one thing

I dreamed I died last night. I don't know how I went. All I know is I was gone.

I didn't see a funeral. I didn't see a grave. I sat in a cafeteria, like the one from elementary school. I sat in white cargo pants with a white hoodie on. I sat on a shelf on the wall, my legs dangling down. I looked around at the people milling around. I am still not sure if they were dead or alive. They were very blurry to see.

I climbed down and walked to a door leading out. A girl stepped in my path. She reminded me I was dead. I thought about that and felt awful. I suddenly felt very bad for the people I had left behind. I was still young--21, you know--and I had so much left to do. I thought of my friend who had gone on a 2 year trip. He had told me he was sure I would get married before he returned. I wasn't married. And I wouldn't be there when he returned. I thought of my mom and how she must have cried. My Dad would have probably been very upset and quiet and reclusive. My sisters would have cried. My nephew, too young to understand, would have forgotten me. I hated that idea. My brothers would have felt sad and confused. I knew they might cry, but I didn't know if it would be in public or around any at all. I felt my death was a very bad thing for anyone who knew me. That it would only bring pain. My friends would be severely wounded by it.

I regretted not writing down the few days before my death. I did remember thinking to myself that if I had not gotten out of this or avoided that, it would have killed me. I remember narrowly escaping death a few times. I remember doing things and knowing, in my head, that I would never do that again. Giving things away more readily because I just knew it didn't matter. People could borrow anything they wanted. I sensed I wouldn't need it or want it again. I wished I had written all of that down so people could have known.

But the worst was that I couldn't even recall how I'd died.

Still, I turned to the girl and asked what came next. She told me I could go back to life (not alive, though) and bring one physical object with me. One. Of my choice. One thing that had been mine. She then opened the doors for me and off I went.

I came into life at my work, in the receiving warehouse. My coworkers were talking about my death. I realized it must have been very very recent. Once I had died, seemed to have no meaning. But back in life, it came back to me. Yes. I had died very recently. I suddenly wanted to ensure I never saw my family so I wouldn't have to see the hurt.

My coworkers were sad. Some showed it by scowling (Supervisor Christian), some were very quiet (Supervisor Jared, who had been in love with me, I suddenly realized), some cried privately (Laura, Brittany, Helen), and others avoided everyone else at work. I felt bad. I wanted to comfort them. I tried to, but I didn't exist. But I was sure that they could feel the slight comfort of my spiritual touch.

On to my home where I had spent my life. To my room I went, only to find my roommate putting everything into boxes for my family. She was pausing over some of my things to touch them gently and to sniff heavily. Jewelry went into boxes--I carefully watched her work, trying to decide what I wanted. I contemplated some earrings, but there was nothing sentimental in them for me. I looked at a ring my dad had given me. I clung to it until I could really decide. I looked away from my mourning friend and I looked at my books--still on the shelves. A book seemed like a good idea.

I suddenly recalled a book my sister had read to me when I was 13. Something my mom and sisters all loved to read. It was a fairy tale full of love and life and goodness. It hurt my heart to think of it because it hurt my heart to miss my family and the pain I gave them in dying.

I searched for the book and disappeared into eternity with it. I wish I could have taken the ring with me as well..