My name is Katherine. Most of you would call me a ghost, or perhaps an Angel. I am you see, what well-nigh soul call `` bushed ''. In fact, today is my funeral. I had n't really planned on dying. I 'm only 21 old age old. I had just returned from the natural spring formal terpsichore. I had barely entered the threshold of the sorority house when I started feeling ill. My caput started throbbing. The room started to swirl as I collapsed and everything went black.

I woke up lying on my rachis. I was on a table in a brightly lit room. Several men and women in hospital uniforms were putting away equipment and collecting exhausted supplies. In spite of the bright light, the room seemed to be filled with an gossamer mist. The people all seemed to be moving in a slow, corpse, almost surrealistic fashion. They all seemed to be ignoring me.

I sat up, climbed off the table, and followed one of the doctors ( I assumed they were doctor ) out of the elbow room through a set of double doors. I do n't really live 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 room access into a minuscule waiting room. My mother and father were the only ones in the room.

I rushed ahead of the doc, `` Mom ! Dad ! `` I rushed ahead to greet them, overjoyed to see familiar spirit 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 doctor. The tone on their faces was one of anxiousness and fear.

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

'' Mr. and Mrs. Johnson ? Please sit down. Your daughter suffered a major intellectual aneurisim. In layman 's terminal figure, a weak surgical incision in one of the major arteries in her genius swelled and burst. There was naught we could do. Your daughter is utterly. ``

At those actor's line my mother went Stanford White, then collapsed, sobbing, on my forefather, who simply stared blankly, disbelievingly, into space.

My first sentiment were `` What kind of bad joke is this ? '' `` Why are you telling my parents I 'm dead when I am obviously standing right in front of them plain as the nozzle on your font ? ``

After a few minutes, my mother composed herself enough to utter. `` I want to see her. I want to see my sister ''

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

My parents rose slowly and with a cadaver, robot like walk followed the doc back through the double doors and down the hall from which I had just bit before emerged. They turned into a room marked `` hand brake ICU - A ''

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

In the heart and soul of the room, under a bright smash light, was a table on which lay a female person form, covered with a thin ashen sheet. I began to suffer a very sick feeling in the pit of my stomach. For the inaugural meter the thought entered my judgement that maybe this was no joke.

But it had to be. How could I be lying there covered with a sheet and standing here watching at the Same time ? It must be a mistake. They will pull down the shroud and it will be mortal else. It had to be soul else !

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

There I was. I was standing here, but I was also lying on the table. The me on the table was still dressed in the garden pink satin dress I had worn to the terpsichore. I looked to be asleep. My creative thinker raced, grasping for any sherd of hope. I had read about out-of-body experiences. How someone near demise felt themselves leave their own trunk. Usually there was a voice telling them to go back because they had more to do with their liveliness. I was only XXI. I certainly had more to do. I had almost a solid biography ahead. I was just getting started. I do n't hear any part. But that does n't count. I just lie back down on the table, merge back into my dead body and wake up. The medico will be dumbfounded. Mom and dad will be overjoyed. I 'll spend a few days in the hospital 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 table and lay down. I closed my middle and placed my branch in the same place as the self on the table. I opened my oculus expecting to see the surprised formula. But dad just continued to stare disbelievingly. Mom was stroking my hair and sobbing, just as before.

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

'' No '' I screamed, `` I 'm not all in '' I flailed by arm, kicked my leg and screamed again. But all my elbow grease went neglected. What ever I was now, I was invisible and unhearable to the world I knew. I really was dead.

By the time of my wake I had still not fully accepted the idea of being dead. The funeral rest home sent a car for mom and dad. I really did n't like the mentation of being on showing, 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 home, passing through the crowd unnoticed. The elbow room where I lay was filled with heyday. My casket lay on a low board. It was glowing shining blank with gold hold and trim. The lid was open.

I hesitated once again. I knew that what I would see would only add to the weight of a realness I did not yet want to accept. 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 wedding. Mom had promised me her bridal gown for my wedding. Instead, she had given it to me for my burial. A white humeral veil covered my side like a fine mist. A large fragrancy of genus Calla lilies lay in my arms.

As I stared at the casket, I began to centre on the peaceful face, my face, beneath the caul. My field of vision seemed to narrow, as if, without taking a step, I was moving closer and closer to the expression within the casket. Suddenly, I was no longer standing before the casket, but lying inside ; looking up through the misty veil that covered my face. I felt the cool satin of my wedding garb turned interment gown. I smelled the redolence of the lilies.

I sensed the slope of my jewel casket close all around. I remembered seeing a horror movie once about a cleaning lady being locked into a casket by some madman. The image was of a casket as a prison, locking her interior. But now that did n't seem right at all. I felt as if I was in a safe, fond bed ; not a prison, but instead a perfect protection from the world.

I became aware of multitude passing by. Some paused but a moment then went on. Others stood or kneeled before the casket, seemingly lost in their thoughts. I could find out whispered prayers. While I could not read the words somehow I knew the words were unimportant. The dearest they represented seemed to take form as a shimmering illumination that grew in strength with each offered prayer. I felt wave upon waving of the cool ash gray sparkle 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 elation and a sense of total peacefulness cracking than anything I had known. I felt myself floating, flying, lifted ever higher, deeper into the light.

Then all went black. I felt as if a mountain had crushed down on my someone. I opened my eye and the Light was gone. I was standing in the visitation room of the funeral home. All my Quaker and house were gone. The funeral director was fastening the latches on my now closed casket.

This forenoon I rode in the hearse as they carried me to church. I watched as they placed my coffin on the bier at the front line and placed the prime all around. All the Edgar Guest have arrived. The church is packed. I never realized how many people cared about me.

The avail is just beginning but already I see a shaft of the ethereal light surrounding my casket. It is already stronger and brighter than at my wake. I suppose that is because everyone is praying together. I know that all I have to do is step into the light and giving up to it and I will be swept away to somewhere rattling beyond imagining.

I know what will happen here. In a little while the service will be over. They will conduct me, that other me in the casket, back to the hearse. They will beat back me to the cemetery, say a few appropriate words, and then they will glower me into the grave that even now is outdoors and waiting.

If I stay I fear the inkiness will come crashing down as they shovel the earth over me. I feel the Christ Within reaching out. I sense its peace. Its sentence for me to go .