Did I just die? Most centurions decline quickly in their final days. Why am I so elated to lie still while I can’t feel my breath or my feet?

What I’m seeing is “pure heaven.” The lush turquoise door reminds me of the sparkling waves of the Caribbean. The metallic door knocker is shaped like a precious sand dollar. I hear angelic voices singing my favorite oldies tunes – all about love.

Still, I’m hesitant to see what’s on the other side. Surely my Mom and Dad will be there with open arms, and it’s been forever since I’ve had a hug from Grandma. What could possibly go wrong?

The alarm clock goes off.

It's rather disconcerting to wake up and realize you are not in your bed, indeed, all signs point to your being dead. You remember going to sleep, maybe. Or were you driving down the highway? Was there an accident? Or perhaps you were in the hospital with pneumonia again? Did you drive off that narrow mountain road while on vacation? Was the tumor not benign? Was the surgery unsuccessful?

All those moments when you cheated death are a tangled mess as you wonder which one did you in.

And as you wonder, you wander.

No fire. That's good, you think. I wasn't that bad. Really, I was quite good, all things considered...but there is also a dearth of clouds and angels singing joyously...so not as good as I thought.

You may be wandering, but you realize you are not walking...or flying or floating or crawling. You may have cognizance of your existence, but you are no longer within that aging body that had begun to fail you more often than not.

Ah yes! You had begun to age...perhaps you died peacefully in your sleep...home in the arms of those you love...or alone. That sounds rather sad and all too true. You remember the acute pain of loss.

As you remember, you become aware of something appearing...a door? A black hole so devoid of light you realize you are in a place of pure light. Indeed, you are an infinitesimal part of the light.

But you are moving towards the door. Towards the darkness that seems to whisper come. And you seem to know that way lies oblivion. And you want to reverse course, stay in the light where you still are, where you still know, and you can remember. But you realize you have no control of anything. The movement is chaotic, perhaps, but ever forward, towards the door that is a hole that leads to...to what? You don't know. You'll never know, you think.

And so, you spend what moments remain remembering the days of your life, that autobiographical movie people say you relive just before you die.

It might be seconds or minutes or hours or days or centuries -- for time does not exist in this place of light.

You are filled with peace as the door draws nigh.

You needn't knock. The door is open.

The movie becomes a swirling kaleidoscope before it all goes black.

But you are not afraid...because you no longer are.

I think back on my life, the way the sun felt on my face

The way he made me laugh so easily

How he filled me with love

so much love you could bathe in it

You could drown in it

And I dread having to part ways

Having to be the first one to say the final goodbye

I can hear him telling me to hold on a little bit longer

Just a little bit longer...

But I feel so tired, so out of my mind and body

As I hold my palm towards death's door

The instructions telling me to "Knock Twice when I'm ready"

I think about how rich I was in this life

How lucky I was to have all that love and support

And how I desperately wish I could stay forever

Go back to him and never leave his side

But my time is now

There is no other way

I knock twice as tears roll down from my eyes falling off my cheeks

The door opens and I find myself getting pulled inside

surrounded by nothing but darkness

The unknown has been a constant source of fear for me. My mind generates varying storylines involving “what if” tangents when I don’t have a clear vision of what’s going to happen. I lean towards pragmatic when dealing with the future by making informed decisions based on past data with the hope it results in happiness. And since Life requires swinging at all its pitches, even the curve balls thrown from time to time, I’m always looking to steal a sign from the first base coach to increase my chances for a hit.

But there are situations that can’t be prepared for by using the knowledge gained from those who’ve already experienced it. Death falls into this category. “What happens when we die?” is a speculative question asked by those who are alive that can only be answered by those who are deceased. And the dead aren’t talking.

That’s why I’m formulating a preemptive approach to kicking the bucket utilizing the limited information gathered from my time spent so far on our glorious planet. This is the rationale for the two explicit instructions I left to the executor of my estate regarding my funeral arrangements.

First, I am to be buried in modest business attire and comfortable shoes with the New World Translation of the Holy Scripture Bible in one hand and a Watchtower pamphlet in the other. This ensemble is a strategic move using other people’s prejudices to my advantage. It’s a last-ditch attempt to nudge redemption in my favor on the outside chance I’m standing at Hades’ threshold after I pass.

Because, if it’s not Heaven’s door that I’m knock, knock, knockin’ on, I’ll do whatever it takes to prevent admission to a neighborhood eternally consumed by fire and brimstone. I’d favor not residing in a community ruled by a satanic HOA requiring the successful rolling of a stone to the top of a hill before I can paint my house any color other than perdition red.

Successfully impersonating a Jehovah Witness might be my ticket out of Gehenna. Because when the Grim Reaper swings open the portal to Hell in response to my incessant rapping, he (or she, don’t want to risk insulting the Angel of Death by misgendering) will see my literature and assume the basis for my visit involves evangelical overtones. Instinctively, this will elicit the curt response of, “I’m not interested” followed by an unrestrained shutting of the door in my face. Just like what’s been executed thousands of times previously by inconvenienced homeowners throughout history.

This burial outfit buys me additional, precious time to avoid Beelzebub’s Welcome Wagon. Getting a delay, even for a few moments, is a last-ditch effort to prove my worthiness. Any spare minutes I get will be used for an appeal to a higher authority. Hopefully, my desire to dodge the Devil will garner a favor from the Man Above, who will appreciate the effort I put forth and then reward me with a Speed Pass to the Pearly Gates.

If I’m fortunate enough to end up in Heaven in the first place, then I’ll nonchalantly tuck the brochure in my back pocket and patiently await St. Peter’s roll call. Either way, wherever I end up, I will finally know what happens when you stand at Death’s door.

The second directive for my memorial is that my coffin has a split lid so it can be an open casket service. But there’s one precondition. While I’m lying in state, the lid over the lower portion of my body is raised while the upper section over my torso remains closed. This has no benefit for me in the afterlife. It’s solely for those who have gathered to say farewell. This configuration would catch everyone off-guard and instill some levity in an otherwise somber occasion.

I accept that the circumstances I went through after dying cannot be relayed the living. But maybe just viewing my legs will give those who knew me another reason to grin or chuckle. And isn’t replacing tears with smiles the gift a departed loved one can bless you with to make an uncertain future a little less daunting and little easier to deal with?

An empty abyss. Quiet knowing shadows. 1 door. And a body I can no longer control. Sounds don't exist. Memories come and go in a series of waves, hellos, stories and goodbyes.

Confusion fogs my brain at first then denial sets in for a moment or 2. Slowly as if coming out of a deep sleep I see and spend a moment chatting with memories from not too long ago and realize it's over. No more memories, no more laughs, no more tears, no more sighs and no more… anything.

Just a door, plain and deceptively simple, but it will seal my fate the moment the hinges creak and the door swings. During the walk I reminisce on good old memorise, have chats with moments that hurt but made me stronger. Everything feeling surreal and not quite real. The smoke and shadows seemed to hold their breath as slow dragged-out footsteps carried me towards the plain white door.

My family… I hope they're ok. Promising myself I think, "I WILL watch over them." Guilt hits me like a punch to the stomach. I have left my family and friends to mourn my passing. "How could I? No! Please no let this not be true!"

I wonder what's behind the door as I'm still slowly approaching to knock. I wish I could go back and tell everyone it's ok and I'm fine. I regret nothing though. I don't think I'd redo anything if given the chance. Just maybe say I love you to my family and friends and then fall into the sleep of eternity. They said this was the easy part of life; I've got mixed feelings on that statement.

The door loomed and became larger with every slow, dragged-out step. It finally dawned on me, toe to toe with the door. I'm not going back. The need to crumble, cry and mourn my family and friends takes over my heart. Why? Why did I have to put them through this? I, of all people, the one with the fear of grief and loss had to be so selfish as to put my family through what I feared most.

IM SORRY! The words tear at my throat as my traitorous body ignores me. it raises my hand and slowly brings it down. Tears build against dam walls I wish I could open.

A new wave of guilt pierces my soul and makes me wish that I would just knock already and not knock at all.

I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I am so so sorry.

The door opens after a single knock and resignation overcomes me and my mantra of guilt and self-loathing quiets as I take my last breath.

I'm sorry I went first, my friend.

I'm sorry I made you weep for yet another family member.

I'm sorry my body didn’t hang on. I wasn’t ready either.

I'm sorry I didn't know it was over, maybe I would have said I love you one more time.

I'm sorry for being selfish. I’m glad I didn't have to watch you go first. I will be having tea with Papa, and we’ll await your turn. I’ll be the one on the other side. Waiting for you to knock so I can open the door.

I'm sorry.

I'm sorry I had to say Goodbye

You hoo, is anyone home.I stare at the sign in the window.Sorry were open.

An eerie conscious conscience.

Should I knock hard?

I don't want to seem desperate.

It's not like I planned to be here today.

I turn around,I see people coming towards me.

They look angry.

I push the door open.Closing it shut..

We've been expecting you.

Make yourself at home.

I wonder is this hell or heaven,or some place in between?

There are two people in front of me,one of them is screaming,you go to hell!

Then to my left,another person shouting,we'll you can go to hell!

Seems like the second guy has a choice.

What makes his situation different from the first guy?

So I ask,excuse me,why does this person have no choice where he'll apparently spend eternity?

Because we have the power to send you wherever we like.

So it's not based on how I live my life?

No it's based on how you tried to live other people's lives for them.

You see it's all about how you controlled other people.

A possessive possession so to speak.

Are you guilty?

Or innocent?

Do I have a choice?

You did,but you didnt knock and wait.

You pushed the door open.

You were afraid of your past catching up to you.

You thought you could stop them.

Well here they are,what do you have to say to them?

Just as I thought.

One by one my accusers leave and knock on the door,it opens and they walk out.