My figure is Katherine. to the highest degree of you would call me a ghost, or perhaps an angel. I am you see, what most mortals call `` dead ''. In fact, today is my funeral. I had n't really planned on dying. I 'm only 21 age old. I had just returned from the spring conventional terpsichore. I had barely entered the room access of the sorority house when I started feeling ill. My head started throbbing. The room started to eddy as I collapsed and everything went black.

I woke up lying on my back. I was on a table in a brightly lit room. respective men and women in hospital uniforms were putting away equipment and collecting washed-out supplies. In bitchiness of the bright lighting, the room seemed to be filled with an ethereal mist. The people all seemed to be moving in a tiresome, stiff, almost surreal way. They all seemed to be ignoring me.

I sat up, climbed off the table, and followed one of the physician ( I assumed they were medico ) out of the way through a set of double threshold. I do n't really love why I did this. It just seemed the thing to do. Somehow I felt that there was an answer waiting for me if I followed.

The doctor lead down a corridor, then through another doorway into a small waiting room. My mother and father were the only one in the room.

I rushed ahead of the doctor, `` Mom ! Dad ! `` I rushed ahead to recognize them, overjoyed to see familiar faces. `` What are you doing here ? What 's happened ? Where are we ? ``

They looked right through me as if I was n't even there. Instead, they turned to the MD. The look on their faces was one of disquiet and fear.

Without waiting for the inquiry that was written on their faces, the doctor spoke.

'' Mr. and Mrs Lyndon Baines Johnson ? Please sit down. Your daughter suffered a John Major cerebral aneurisim. In secular 's damage, a feeble section in one of the major artery in her brain swelled and burst. There was nothing we could do. Your daughter is dead. ``

At those Good Book my mother went white, then collapsed, sobbing, on my founding father, who simply stared blankly, disbelievingly, into space.

My first thoughts were `` What kind of bad joke is this ? '' `` Why are you telling my parents I 'm utterly when I am obviously standing right in front line of them plain as the nose on your facial expression ? ``

After a few second, my female parent composed herself enough to address. `` I want to see her. I want to see my baby ''

'' Certainly '' said the doctor `` If you feel you are up to it, I will take you to her. ``

My parents rose slowly and with a clay, robot like walk followed the doctor back through the double over doorway and down the foyer from which I had just minutes before emerged. They turned into a way marked `` Emergency ICU - A ''

I recognized the room as the one from which I had emerged into the hall when I had first followed the Dr.. The way was vacant of medical exam staff now. The equipment had all been removed or neatly stored against the walls.

In the shopping centre of the room, under a bright overhead light, was a table on which lay a female person form, covered with a thin white sheet of paper. I began to have got a very barf feeling in the pit of my stomach. For the first fourth dimension the thought process entered my mind that maybe this was no joke.

But it had to be. How could I be lying there covered with a shroud and standing here watching at the same time ? It must be a misapprehension. They will pull down the canvass and it will be person else. It had to be person else !

My parents followed the doctor, hesitatingly, to the board. Gently, the doctor folded down the sheet.

There I was. I was standing here, but I was also lying on the mesa. The me on the table was still dressed in the pink satin dress I had worn to the dance. I looked to be asleep. My mind raced, grasping for any shard of promise. I had read about out-of-body experiences. How someone near death felt themselves leave their own body. Usually there was a voice telling them to go back because they had more to do with their aliveness. I was only twenty-one. I certainly had more to do. I had almost a whole spirit ahead. I was just getting started. I do n't hear any interpreter. But that does n't matter. I just lie back down on the board, merge back into my body and fire up up. The doctor will be dumbfounded. Mom and dad will be overjoyed. I 'll spend a few mean solar day in the infirmary and go on with my life.

I did n't really think about how one climbs back into ones own dead body. I just went over to the board and lay down. I closed my center and placed my arms in the same piazza as the self on the table. I opened my eyes expecting to see the surprised expressions. But dad just continued to stare disbelievingly. Mom was stroking my hair and sob, just as before.

Finally they turned away and the doctor covered my nerve with the sheet.

'' No '' I screamed, `` I 'm not dead '' I flailed by weapon, kicked my branch and screamed again. But all my campaign went unheeded. What ever I was now, I was invisible and inaudible to the world I knew. I really was dead.

By the time of my backwash I had still not fully accepted the idea of being utter. The funeral house sent a car for mom and dad. I really did n't like the thought of being on display, but I was curious to see what they had done with me.

A crowd had already gathered when we arrived. I followed my parents into the family, passing through the crowd unnoticed. The way where I lay was filled with flowers. My jewel casket lay on a low board. It was glowing shining white with amber handle and passementerie. The lid was open.

I hesitated once again. I knew that what I would see would only add to the weight of a world I did not yet want to take. I also knew I had to face. Slowly, I stepped up to the casket.

I gazed at the dream-like scene before me. The other me, the me that lay in the casket, was dressed as for her nuptials. Mom had promised me her bridal robe for my wedding. Instead, she had given it to me for my burial. A Stanford White veil covered my face like a alright mist. A tumid bouquet of Zantedeschia aethiopica lilies lay in my arms.

As I stared at the coffin, I began to focus on the passive face, my face, beneath the caul. My force field of vision seemed to narrow, as if, without taking a measure, I was moving closer and tightlipped to the cheek within the casket. Suddenly, I was no longer standing before the casket, but lying inside ; looking up through the hazy veil that covered my face. I felt the cool off satin of my wedding ceremony frock turned burial night-robe. I smelled the fragrancy of the lilies.

I sensed the sides of my coffin close all around. I remembered seeing a repugnance movie once about a woman being locked into a coffin by some madman. The double was of a casket as a prison, locking her inside. But now that did n't seem right at all. I felt as if I was in a safe, quick bed ; not a prison house, but instead a perfect shelter from the world.

I became aware of masses passing by. Some paused but a moment then went on. Others stood or kneeled before the casket, seemingly lost in their opinion. I could hear whispered prayers. While I could not understand the words somehow I knew the words were unimportant. The making love they represented seemed to look at form as a shimmering light that grew in volume with each offered supplicant. I felt wave upon moving ridge of the cool silver gray lighter surrounding me, flowing over me, filling me. I felt as if I was losing myself, willingly, in the overpowering radiance. I felt both a growing high spirits and a gumption of add together peace bang-up than anything I had known. I felt myself floating, flying, lifted ever mellow, deeper into the light.

Then all went Shirley Temple Black. I felt as if a mint had crushed down on my soul. I opened my optic and the lighting was gone. I was standing in the visitation room of the funeral nursing home. All my ally and syndicate were gone. The funeral theatre director was fastening the door latch on my now closed casket.

This morning I rode in the hearse as they carried me to church. I watched as they placed my jewel casket on the bier at the front and placed the heyday all around. All the guest have arrived. The church is packed. I never realized how many hoi polloi cared about me.

The serve is just beginning but already I see a lance of the ethereal light surrounding my casket. It is already secure and bright than at my aftermath. I suppose that is because everyone is praying together. I know that all I have to do is step into the light and surrender to it and I will be swept away to somewhere wonderful beyond imagining.

I know what will happen here. In a little while the serving will be over. They will comport me, that other me in the casket, back to the hearse. They will drive me to the memorial park, say a few appropriate words, and then they will lower me into the grave that even now is open and waiting.

If I stay I fear the blackness will hail crashing down as they shovel the dry land over me. I feel the light reaching out. I sense its heartsease. Its prison term for me to go .