I hear my name. Over and over. Someone is jostling my shoulder, touching my arm. I feel it. I feel, for the first time in recent memory, a dull pain in my legs and my right arm. Where are my meds? Why won’t these people leave me alone? John, make them leave me alone.
I open my eyes.
A bright, white light glows overhead. It is not inviting and it is definitely not heaven. Fluorescent and harsh, it emits a buzz.
My eyes feel as if they’ve been super-glued shut and they are desert-dry. Blinking is sandpaper-like. I feel soft fingers on my eyelids, prying them gently back and filling my eyes with a soothing liquid. Maybe this is heaven after all. My vision begins to focus and I see his face: John is hovering above me, tears in his eyes.
“We missed you. I missed you.”
I want to say, “Me, too,” but only a scratchy, dry sound escapes my throat. I am woefully out-of-practice.
“Don’t try to talk.” Drawl Lady is on my right side and she’s smiling. She’s not at all what I thought she would look like; she’s kinder and taller and wiser and better. “It may be a day or so before your voice returns. You’ve been out quite a while.”
She turns to walk away and my hand grabs her white nursing tunic. I press the words out: “How long?” She looks at John, he nods and she replies: “One hundred days.”
“How can that be?” I say.
“It wasn’t your time.” John smiles.
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