Conversations in the Afterlife

I woke up confused but feeling slightly at peace. The room was extremely quiet, a type of quiet I hadn’t experienced for the past eighty-two years of my life. There was always someone whining or barking or loud clangs coming from the kitchen or the yard. Thoughts whizzed around in my head — Where was I? Weren’t my kids just here surrounding my bed?

The last thing I remembered was listening to Ciaran saying something to me on speaker phone driving from Galway and Terry holding the phone up close to my ear. The sound quality from the phone wasn’t great and I definitely wasn’t in any mood to be listening to the various conversations between my seven kids. But they were all just here — Deidre and Maeve were each gripping one of my hands, Aisling was reciting a rosary by the door, Ciaran was obviously driving, Bonnie was talking with Ciaran next to Terry, who was holding the phone by my left shoulder, and Liam stood at the foot of the bed with his hands buried in his face. Strange.

Looking down, I noticed a white robe on my body. It was incredibly soft as I gripped it between my fingers. The white material was almost a blinding sort of white, not like a cream or egg-shell colored piece of clothing. I’ve never seen anyone in Hospice wearing one of these. Maybe Bonnie complained about the ugly blue tunic-like robe I had been given by the nurses to wear as my uniform. Honestly, I’m glad she did since this robe was the softest piece of material I’ve ever worn. The bed sheets were also gone but I wasn’t feeling cold. My head whirred around the room, which only added more questions to the already vast list — Where was everything else? Where are the cords that were sticking out of my arm and the oxygen mask looped around my nose? Where was the nurse’s board and the cards from my grandkids?

There was nothing left in the room except for me, the bed, and the door, which didn’t appear to be its normal passageway leading to the hallway piano. There was a light emitting from it and I was mysteriously drawn to it. Looking around for my walker, I only realized after a while that while I was crouched below the bed and easily maneuvering chairs in search of it, that I probably didn’t need it anymore. I haven’t been this agile in years — not since the last time I had Irish danced in that bar a few years ago with Carl.

I timidly but not fearfully walked towards the light coming from the door. There was nowhere else to go except lie down in an extremely boring room, so why not see where it would take me?

I hadn’t even put my foot down from my step out the door until I realized that I was on the deck at the caravan in Youghal, facing the yard just a few steps downward. There were hoards of people on the lawn and my first instinct is that it’s one of the grandkids’ birthdays and the family was jovially conversing ahead of me. But instead of the crowd donning birthday hats and party favors, they were all wearing the same robe as me. My confusion only heightened.

“DERMOT? LILY? JACOB?” I blurted out, calling for my three youngest grandkids, hoping they were running around somewhere and could knock some sense into the situation. But they didn’t answer. The crowd remained calm and full of laughter as they continued to converse with one another. Every once in a while, I’d catch someone different in the crowd staring at me for a second, each with a twinkle in their eyes and a huge smile.

There was barking coming from somewhere in the packed lawn. Finally, something I recognized. I peered around trying to spot the barking dogs when I noticed two darting up the stairs at me full speed ahead. I instantly recognized them as a Sheepdog and a Scottish Terrier. I’d had both breeds at one point in my life — a Sheepdog when my kids were growing up and the Scotty most recently, but he had just passed away a few years ago. The Sheepdog bounded on its hind legs and licked me across the face and the Scotty was running in and out of my legs, the white robe an intense contrast to his black fur. I knelt down to wrap my arms around the Scotty when I noticed his plaid collar with a tag inscribed with “Winston”. I froze. I’m sure there were a lot of Scotty dogs that had the name “Winston”, so I put the thought aside. Between bounces, I saw that the Sheepdog was also donning a tag inscribed with “Rolly”. The coincidence was uncanny at this point, considering that was also my Sheepdog’s name and both dogs visually resembled and audibly sounded like my previous pets. Winston’s tail naturally cocked to the left, just like this version of Winston. Rolly had one blue eye and one brown eye, just like this version of Rolly. Strange.

I sat there for a while patting the dogs’ heads, scratching behind their ears, and just enjoying their company. I noticed a box of milk-bones on the table next to me and started feeding them as many as I could in exchange for loads of sit’s, lay down’s, and paw’s. I was so engrossed in the dogs that I hadn’t even heard the man walking up the steps. There was no telling how long he was standing beside me. His raspy voice plucked me out of my dog-trance.

“I’m not even surprised you went after the dogs first,” said the young man, who was smiling with a striking familiarity. He looked about twenty years old, and as he smiled, I noticed a small gap in his teeth — a gap that was etched into my brain.

“Smit?” I spoke breathlessly, my voice high-pitched for the little that was uttered. There was no way this could be my husband who had passed away eight years ago. We were married for fifty-six years, so how could he possibly be twenty years old again? The last time I saw him he was bald and heavily bruised from his battles with brain cancer. I fondly remember him writing a script for a movie idea he had come up with but the cancer had taken him too early for him to complete the finished product. I’d kept his unfinished manuscript underneath my bed back on Shanowen Road and took it out to read sometimes before the kids put me in Hospice a few weeks ago. I sometimes liked to imagine how he would finish it but I could never convey his story as well as he could.

The Smitty lookalike nodded and held out a hand to help me up. The dogs dug their paws into my robe so I could stay petting them.

“Rolly, Winston, away with ye’s,” he sternly called out to them, throwing a few milk-bones onto the lawn for them to find. The dogs immediately bounded off the porch, Rolly stampeding over Winston but happily munching on the bones once they found them. I reached for Smitty’s hand and he pulled me up.

“What’s going on, Smit? I was just with the kids.” His hazel eyes drained into mine and I felt a fluttering sensation flowing through my body. I couldn’t look away.

“It was a quick and painless stroke, Connie girl,” he said softly. He was still holding my hand. “Welcome to your heaven.”

Smitty gestured with his free hand towards the lawn. Suddenly, all the faces within the lawn were familiar to me. They were those who have passed before me that I remembered to a strong degree. I was incredibly surprised that I didn’t feel scared to be dead. I’d been worried my whole life about dying — the pain, the suffering, the baggage left behind — but it turned out to be quite peaceful and as if I had just blinked myself to sleep. The transition was seamless and I was instantly filled with love at the opportunity to roam around my heaven.

I breathed in the air, and for the first time, I breathed non-oxygen tank air. I smelled the sea from one row of caravans behind mine. I heard a train going by, its whistle filling my ears with a harmonious ring. I felt the summer wind flowing through my hair. I could almost taste the hotdogs and hamburgers grilling from the McAurthur’s lawn. My senses were in sheer overload as I tried to pick out every face as quickly as I could while standing on the porch completely frozen. Smitty could sense my calculating mind and squeezed my hand tighter.

“You’re not on a schedule, Connie. Go have a wander. I’ll be here anytime you want to talk.”

Smitty took a seat at the table on the deck and pulled out a newspaper. It’s just as I remember him when we first got married. A curl of his jet-black hair drooped in front of his face as he intensely started reading the front page of “The Irish Times”. I wanted so badly to sit with him and bring him a cup of tea but he was right, I needed to explore my heaven.

A woman waltzed up to me as I descended the stairs. She was elegant and wore a large fur coat over her robe, brown Dior sunglasses, and had a cigarette hanging out of her mouth. She was also youthful but a bit older than Smitty — in her thirties probably.

“Constance, darling!” shouted my old friend D.M. We always referred to her as the initials of her first and last name, Dorrance McEvoy, for reasons I never knew. D.M. hugged me tightly. I could smell the smoke on her breath, which smelled indescribably alluring.

“Finally, I’m not the only summer caravan resident up here now.” D.M.’s caravan was in the row behind ours, a seafront. I always used to visit her because she had some of the best views in the whole community and our kids used to play in the sea together.

“Niamh’s doing really well,” I started, referring to her daughter. I wasn’t sure if she was able to keep up with people still alive on Earth or not. “I was just at the pub with her a few weeks ago.”

“Oh, I was there too, Connie! I had a gin and tonic, just like the old days,” beamed D.M. with a smile radiating on her face. Her skin shone in the sunlight. She was a few years older than I was, but it looked like I was visualizing her when we became best friends back in the 1960s.

D.M. continued. “Once Carl and Katrina join us, we can all go to the pub together, just like old times.”

I laughed, thinking of our little caravan crew. “Let’s hope it’s not anytime soon,” I responded. D.M. nodded and pulled something out of her coat.

“Take this. You know you want to,” she urged comically, nudging me in the arm with the cigarette precisely handled between two fingers.

“But D.M.,” I gasped. “That’s how I died.”

“You can’t die twice!” she shouted sarcastically. I cautiously held out my hand to take it from her. The little cylindrical tube rolled around my palm. I considered the past decade or so of horror — my lungs collapsing twice, the COPD, the constant source of oxygen flowing through my nose, all leading to my apparent death from the stroke. So, I lit it.

D.M. kissed me on the cheek and whisked away, dancing in the sunlight towards her caravan. I laughed again and sucked in the smoke while I continued walking through the crowd.

The lawn was full of smiles, everyone looking up from their conversations as I browsed past them and waving to me. I greeted old classmates and cousins from across Ireland. I also glimpsed a small girl, probably around six years old, running towards me, quickly followed by her parents. I was suddenly the same height as the small girl running at me and we both leapt into one another’s arms.

“MARY ANNE!” I squeaked in a little girl’s voice. She bounced up and down in excitement from seeing me. Our parents looked down at us and smiled. My mother was fixing the curlers in her hair and my father had a pipe sticking out of his mouth. He scooped me up into his arms and cradled me.

“Oh, my little Connie,” he swooned in his strong, county Clare Irish accent. “I’ve missed ye, my love.”

He carried me to the nearest chair and sat me on his bony knee and started bouncing me up and down while he lilted along to some old Irish tune. I could hear trad music coming from somewhere in the distance, probably a fiddle and bodhran drum, but I couldn’t see anyone playing from my low height. It just sounded as he started singing. He scooped up Mary Anne and began bouncing her on the other knee, the two of us screaming with glee and our little feet flailing in front of our eyes. My mother watched us, rolling her eyes and crossing her arms. I swore I could see a smile trying to escape but she pursed her lips as best she could. I couldn’t help but smile as I watched her try to hold firmly onto her strict facade, knowing deep down she was so happy to see me again.

“On ya go, Connie,” whispered my dad once he finished his song. He gently placed me on the ground and kissed me on the head. Mary Anne gave me one more hug and took the hand of parents and skipped off, pulling them forward. My dad waved with his free hand and my mom let out a smirk, which was just about as much softness as I remembered her emitting. I already missed them but knew I could see them whenever I wanted now. I just had to keep exploring for the moment.

I didn’t know which way to look — I continued recognizing everyone almost instantly as I met their gazes. They were all smiling so brightly to see me. It was riveting to be the center of attention. I hadn’t had this much attention in my life since I always catered to eight, well actually, seven kids. There was never any time for me. I smiled from ear to ear as I waved to neighbors, faces from the grocery store, and even some of the students I taught who had passed before I had. My head was whirring every which way so quickly that I was barely capturing a clear image of everyone I was passing. The swiftness of my movements caused me to nearly stumble over someone, who firmly caught me in their arms. I looked up to see someone I had hoped I’d never see again, but there was Barbara Benson in all of her snooty glory. She bore the same blonde updo, overly rosy cheeks, red lipstick, and powdered nose as she always had. Fury filled my body so much that I was shaking. Fully prepared to run in the opposite direction, I sprang up from her hold and bounced in a half-turn. She anticipated my escape earlier than I had and grabbed my forearm, holding it firmly and steadily. I glared at her and huffed, but Barbara was flashing a smile at me, which felt strangely warm and loving. She helped me to my feet and straightened out a wrinkle in my robe with her other hand — her perfectly nail-polished hand. She continued to smile and noticed my shaky hand, which was now curled in a fist.

“Ms. O’Connell, I am so glad to see you.” I could tell she was trying to diffuse the tension. I wasn’t having any of it. Not with this witch of a woman, even if her smile was kind and inviting.

“Mrs. Benson.” That was all I could muster. She could sense I was uneasy.

“There’s no need for anger in your heaven, Ms. O’Connell. I’ve come to ask for your forgiveness.”

I stood there frozen. My hand trembled even more violently. “Forgiveness? After what you’ve done?”

“You came into my life for a reason,” she responded sweetly, her grip tightening. “I became stronger from your actions. After that dreadful day at the pool… my life was changed. So, thank you.” She embraced me tightly. I released from her grip and tossed her the most menacing stare that I could.

“Why are you in my heaven? I’m ashamed of you. I — I don’t want you here!” The anger was surging through my body. This is the last thing I expected to feel in my heaven. “That little boy was drowning, he could have died!” I continued in my fury. “Just because he had darker skin than you and me, didn’t mean you shouldn’t save him. You were the lifeguard for heaven’s sake!”

My memories flooded back to that day back when I was in my late teens. A girlfriend and I were lying out at the community pool in the heat of the summer. We were enjoying a cold beer, surrounded by other sunbathers and small children splashing around the pool. I had already hated Barbara Benson from secondary school and she happened to be the lifeguard on duty that day. She was the haughtiest, snootiest, most horrible person at the Saint Clare’s Academy for girls and my blood boiled every time I came within a football field of her. My friend and I rolled our eyes as some of the Bishop Kerry boys surrounded her, giving her all the attention, as they always did. She was desirable only to men. Women, not so much.

The scream must have come after my eye-roll, and everyone at the pool’s eyes averted to the source of the sound — a small, black boy in the deep end, gasping for air. No one was swimming towards him, especially Barbara, who was all-consumed by the boys’ attention.

I remember shouting her name, waving my arms, and stomping my feet to get her attention, since I was on the opposite end of the pool. She caught sight of me, lowered her sunglasses, glared at both me and the drowning boy, and returned her attention to the boys. I was furious — not one person at the pool was interested in helping. The small boy’s mother, the only other person with dark skin, was the only one screaming alongside me for someone to help. Without a second thought, I dove in the pool, dragged the small boy out, performed CPR, and saved him. His mother hugged and kissed me, thankful that someone had shown her kindness that day. I could never understand prejudice or discrimination, especially since that day. I stormed out of the pool and spoke to Barbara’s manager to get her fired. She started rumors about me for the rest of my time in high school, which was eventually the reason I had to drop out early.

Barbara listened to my words and nodded her head. “I understand your confusion, Ms. O’Connell. The shame I carried from that day taught me compassion. I learned to accept the differences in skin color from that moment onwards. The lies I told, the pain I caused that mother and her child, I grew from that. You, on the other hand, remembered that anger and used it for good throughout your life. You needed someone to start that fire for you, so you could impact so many people’s lives and stand up for what is right. I was destined to learn acceptance and you were destined to be a protector. We worked together and succeeded in our goals, which is why I thank you but also ask for your forgiveness.”

I drooped my head, the anger slowly flushing away. I took several deep breaths and then looked her in the eyes.

“Do me one favor,” I started.

“Anything, Ms. O’Connell,” replied Barbara.

“You’d better be there for that boy’s mother when she goes to her heaven. You ask for her forgiveness, too.”

Barbara’s eyes twinkled. “I see you’re still protecting in the afterlife. You are a special soul, Ms. O’Connell. I promise to be there for her whenever her time comes.”

“Then I forgive you,” I said in a tone of finality, but still not showing too much emotion.

She placed my chin in the palm of her hand. “This anger you feel will go away the longer you are here. You will come to understand the lessons of those you wronged and who wronged you as some of your most powerful life lessons. You will carry that into your next life, should you choose to go.”

Barbara winked and embraced me once more before walking away. I stood there for a moment, soaking in her words. The slow drainage of hatred was refreshing. I’m glad that I could now attempt to see her in a different light.

Once I decided that it was time to move my feet, I noticed something small crawling between my legs. The feeling reminded me of Winston weaving around my feet but once I looked down, I instantly recognized that it was a baby. I looked around as I scooped up the baby. Where was its mother? Surely a mother wouldn’t leave a baby by itself! I felt its little hand touch my face and I took a good look at the small infant in my arms. The recognition filled my face instantly. It was my baby. Gerry — my first-born. I had only known him for four days before he passed from breathing difficulties. I cradled him, something I hadn’t done since my last grandchild Lily was born about seven years ago. It felt natural, almost as if giving birth to him had happened only moments ago. I tickled his cheek as if to indicate, “Hello again, my son,” and he cooed in response as if to say, “I’ve been with you the whole time.”

Smitty snuck up behind us and joined our reunion. It was a beautiful moment to catch a glimpse of the three of us together, a snapshot of our original trio, even if it had only lasted for four days.

“Connie, my girl,” started Smitty, placing the palm of his hand on the small of my back. “Let Gerry down to enjoy crawling around for a bit more. We are being summoned to another heaven to greet someone. You can come back here anytime.”

I froze. Gerry began squirming in my arms trying to reach down towards Rolly, who had just appeared in front of us to play. I didn’t want to let go of my son again. Smitty could see that I was hesitant and took Gerry from my arms slowly. He gently placed him on the cool grass and Gerry giggled as Rolly pounced on him and stuffed his wet nose into his baby face.

Smitty gripped my hand and led me from the lawn towards the deck stairs.

“I don’t want to — “ I started, keeping my eyes on Gerry but Smitty was determined to get where we needed to go, as his strides were quick and controlled.

We reached the top of the deck stairs and stood still in front of where the glass sliding door would be and the lawn to our backs. Instead of seeing the inside of the caravan through the glass sliding door, which would have consisted of the kitchen table and pictures of the sea, boats, and family trees along the walls, there was a blinding, white light in the doorway, similar to the one I saw when I exited out of my Hospice room for the last time.

“Who are we meeting? How long have I been here?” There were so many questions swirling in my brain. It felt like I had only been in my heaven for five minutes. I wanted to keep reconnecting with everyone. There was no way I was leaving. I tried pulling my hand away from his.

Smitty only gripped my hand tighter. “Time works a little differently here. It’s not exactly linear. We’ve fast-forwarded about four years.”

His eyes bore into mine with a deep intensity. The look on his face was solemn but remained strong. I could see his eyes welled up and his jaw clenched. I had never before seen my husband cry, even when he was going through his intense cancer treatments, or the times he had been beaten in his job as a police officer. I trusted him. I squeezed his hand to reassure him that I understood. We had to go.

We stepped through the light together and ended up in what looked like a basement. I recognized it, having been there maybe once or twice in my life but not being able to immediately place it. Everyone in the room was doing the same thing they had been in my heaven — just conversing with one another in their white robes. I didn’t recognize anyone this time.

Smitty began to speak with someone, an older man with grey hair, again, whom I did not recognize.

“Smit,” I whispered in his ear, feeling a bit awkward and uncomfortable. “What do I do? Whose heaven is this?”

“You were requested to meet her first,” said Smitty, still tearing up but with an air of relief in his voice. “She should be arriving by the stairs over there.” Smitty pointed to a set of stairs by the corner of the room.

I started making my way towards the corner so I could greet whoever it was that would be coming down them. As I swiveled my way through the dense crowd, I noticed some people playing ping pong, and others sitting close to each other on a couch watching “101 Dalmatians”. I recognized the movie instantly because the grandkids used to have sleepovers at our house and watch it all the time. The basement was fairly dark but there was a beautiful light coming through the small windows in the basement walls. Everyone seemed happy and jovial, just as they had in my heaven. I even started to relax a little as I continued through the crowd of strangers.

I climbed three steps up the landing to find Smitty in the crowd. His gaze found mine and he winked. A flooding warmth filled my body.

Suddenly, I heard soft, careful footsteps descending the stairs. My head jerked towards the source. A feeling of simultaneous joy and dread filled my body. Without thinking, my arms embraced the young woman in front of me and held her tightly. She was crying.

“G-Grandma Connie?” cried one of my oldest grandchildren, Kelly. “W-where am I?”

“You’re safe,” I voiced calmly, brushing her tears away from her brown eyes and still holding her closely. “You’re in your heaven. And I’m not leaving your side.”