I Was Dead – Epilogue – Dead?

I was dead.

Well, technically, I don’t know if I was actually dead.

Nobody handed me a certificate. Nobody introduced me to God. And there was definitely no bright light at the end of a tunnel.

Which, honestly, was disappointing.

You’d think after thirty-two years of paying taxes, the universe could at least arrange a proper welcome.

Instead, I got a front-row seat to my own life.

And apparently, I’d missed a few episodes.

Quite a few, actually.

You know how people say your whole life flashes before your eyes when you’re dying?

That’s bullshit.

At least in my experience.

I didn’t see my childhood birthday parties. I didn’t relive my first kiss. I didn’t get some beautiful montage of all the people I’d loved.

I saw things I wasn’t supposed to see.

Conversations I wasn’t supposed to hear.

Moments that happened while I was somewhere else, happily minding my own business.

And here’s the really fucked-up part.

When I finally opened my eyes in the hospital, I wasn’t sure which was worse.

The possibility that everything I’d seen was real.

Or the possibility that I’d have to go home, smile at the people I loved, and pretend I hadn’t seen any of it.

But I’m getting ahead of myself.

It all started with a romantic dinner.

A grocery bag.

And six broken eggs.

Which, in retrospect, was a pretty accurate summary of how my week was going to turn out.