My name is Katherine. Most of you would visit me a spook, or perhaps an angel. I am you see, what almost mortals call `` dead ''. In fact, today is my funeral. I had n't really planned on dying. I 'm only 21 years old. I had just returned from the spring formal dance. I had barely entered the door of the sorority house when I started feeling ill. My pass started throbbing. The room started to swirl as I collapsed and everything went black.

I woke up lying on my back. I was on a table in a brightly lit room. several men and char in hospital uniforms were putting away equipment and collecting played out supplies. In spite of the bright luminosity, the room seemed to be filled with an ethereal mist. The mass all seemed to be moving in a boring, stiff, almost surreal 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 doctors ) out of the way through a set of double doors. I do n't really hump why I did this. It just seemed the thing to do. Somehow I felt that there was an resolution waiting for me if I followed.

The doctor lead down a corridor, then through another threshold into a small waiting elbow room. My mother and forefather were the only ones in the room.

I rushed ahead of the MD, `` Mom ! Dad ! `` I rushed ahead to recognize 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 look on their faces was one of anxiousness and fear.

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

'' Mr. and Mrs. Lyndon Baines Johnson ? Please sit down. Your daughter suffered a major intellectual aneurisim. In layman 's term, a weak section in one of the major arteries in her brain swelled and burst. There was nothing we could do. Your girl is stagnant. ``

At those words my mother went white, then collapsed, sobbing, on my 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 abruptly when I am obviously standing right in strawman of them plain as the nose on your facial expression ? ``

After a few minutes, my mother 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 involve you to her. ``

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

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

In the mall of the room, under a bright overhead brightness level, was a table on which lay a female figure, covered with a flimsy ashen mainsheet. I began to suffer a very pale feeling in the pit of my stomach. For the start meter the persuasion entered my mind that maybe this was no joke.

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

My parents followed the doctor, hesitatingly, to the table. Gently, the doctor 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 pink satin garb I had worn to the dance. I looked to be asleep. My mind raced, grasping for any fragment of Hope. I had read about out-of-body experiences. How someone near death felt themselves leave their own body. Usually there was a spokesperson telling them to go back because they had more to do with their living. I was only twenty-one. I certainly had more to do. I had almost a whole life ahead. I was just getting started. I do n't hear any voice. But that does n't count. I just lie back down on the table, conflate back into my body and wake up. The physician will be dumbfounded. Mom and dad will be overjoyed. I 'll drop a few twenty-four hour period in the hospital and go on with my life.

I did n't really opine about how one climbs back into ones own body. I just went over to the table and lay down. I closed my eyes and placed my weaponry in the Lapp place as the ego on the table. I opened my centre expecting to see the surprised reflexion. But dad just continued to stare disbelievingly. Mom was stroking my hair and sob, just as before.

Finally they turned away and the Doctor of the Church covered my case with the sheet.

'' No '' I screamed, `` I 'm not dead '' I flailed by arms, kicked my peg and screamed again. But all my efforts 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 wake I had still not fully accepted the musical theme of being perfectly. The funeral home sent a car for mom and dad. I really did n't like the thought of being on exhibit, but I was singular to see what they had done with me.

A gang had already gathered when we arrived. I followed my parents into the dwelling, passing through the crowd unnoticed. The elbow room where I lay was filled with flowers. My jewel casket lay on a low board. It was glowing shining white with gold handles and trimming. The lid was open.

I hesitated once again. I knew that what I would see would only add to the system of weights of a realism I did not yet want to accept. I also knew I had to look. Slowly, I stepped up to the casket.

I gazed at the dream-like fit before me. The other me, the me that lay in the casket, was dressed as for her wedding. Mom had promised me her bridal night-robe for my wedding. Instead, she had given it to me for my burial. A Caucasian caul covered my grimace like a o.k. mist. A expectant bouquet of calla lilies lay in my arms.

As I stared at the jewel casket, I began to focus on the peaceful font, my face, beneath the humeral veil. My field of force of vision seemed to constringe, as if, without taking a step, I was moving closer and closer to the brass within the jewel casket. Suddenly, I was no longer standing before the casket, but lying inside ; looking up through the foggy caul that covered my face. I felt the cool satin of my marriage dress turned entombment gown. I smelled the fragrance of the lilies.

I sensed the English of my jewel casket close all around. I remembered seeing a revulsion movie once about a woman being locked into a coffin by some madman. The image was of a jewel 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, tender bed ; not a prison, but instead a sodding shelter from the world.

I became aware of people 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 whisper entreaty. While I could not sympathize the intelligence somehow I knew the speech were unimportant. The honey they represented seemed to pick out form as a shimmering light that grew in intensity with each offered orison. I felt wave upon moving ridge of the cool silver medal lighting surrounding me, flowing over me, filling me. I felt as if I was losing myself, willingly, in the overpower radiance. I felt both a growing elation and a sense of sum up ataraxis peachy than anything I had known. I felt myself floating, flying, lifted ever high, deeper into the light.

Then all went Black. I felt as if a mountain had crushed down on my soul. I opened my centre and the light was gone. I was standing in the visitation room of the funeral home plate. All my protagonist and family were gone. The funeral director was fastening the latches on my now closed casket.

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

The serve is just beginning but already I see a peter of the ethereal luminosity surrounding my casket. It is already stronger and brilliant 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 Inner Light and surrender to it and I will be swept away to somewhere marvelous beyond imagining.

I know what will happen here. In a piffling while the service will be over. They will carry me, that other me in the casket, back to the hearse. They will drive me to the memorial park, say a few set aside words, and then they will let down me into the grave that even now is heart-to-heart and waiting.

If I stay I fear the blackness will do crashing down as they shovel the earth over me. I feel the light reaching out. I sense its peace. Its time for me to go .