My gens is Katherine. Most of you would phone me a ghost, or perhaps an angel. I am you see, what most mortals call `` drained ''. In fact, today is my funeral. I had n't really planned on dying. I 'm only 21 yr old. I had just returned from the bounce formal dancing. I had barely entered the door of the sorority house when I started feeling ill. My head started throbbing. The room started to swirl as I collapsed and everything went black.

I woke up lying on my spinal column. I was on a table in a brightly lit room. Several men and women in hospital uniforms were putting away equipment and collecting spent supply. In spite of the bright Light, the room seemed to be filled with an ethereal mist. The people all seemed to be moving in a slow, stiff, almost surrealistic fashion. They all seemed to be ignoring me.

I sat up, climbed off the tabular array, and followed one of the doctor ( I assumed they were Doctor ) out of the elbow room through a set of double doors. I do n't really know why I did this. It just seemed the thing to do. Somehow I felt that there was an solution waiting for me if I followed.

The doctor lead down a corridor, then through another threshold into a small waiting way. My mother and father were the solely single 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 doctor. The look on their faces was one of disquiet and fear.

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

'' Mr. and Mrs. Lyndon Johnson ? Please sit down. Your daughter suffered a major cerebral aneurisim. In layman 's terms, a infirm section in one of the major arteries in her brain swelled and burst. There was nothing we could do. Your daughter is absolutely. ``

At those Bible my mother went blanched, 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 dead when I am obviously standing right in front of them plain as the olfactory organ on your cheek ? ``

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

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

My parents rose slowly and with a cadaver, 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 way as the one from which I had emerged into the manse when I had first followed the doctor. The room was vacant of medical staff now. The equipment had all been removed or neatly stored against the walls.

In the gist of the elbow room, under a burnished overhead luminousness, was a table on which lay a female strain, covered with a thin white tack. I began to give a very sick feeling in the pit of my abdomen. For the first fourth dimension the thought entered my brain 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 Lapp metre ? It must be a fault. They will pull down the sheet and it will be someone else. It had to be individual else !

My parents followed the medico, 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 board was still dressed in the pink satin attire I had worn to the dancing. I looked to be asleep. My mind raced, grasping for any fragment of hope. I had read about out-of-body experiences. How individual 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 life. I was only twenty-one. I certainly had more to do. I had almost a unit biography ahead. I was just getting started. I do n't find out any vocalism. But that does n't matter. I just lie back down on the tabular array, merge back into my consistency and wake up. The doctor 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 imagine about how one climbs back into unity own soundbox. I just went over to the table and lay down. I closed my eye and placed my arms in the Lapp place as the self on the table. I opened my eyes expecting to see the surprised verbal expression. But dad just continued to gaze disbelievingly. Mom was stroking my whisker and sobbing, just as before.

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

'' No '' I screamed, `` I 'm not utterly '' I flailed by arms, kicked my pegleg and screamed again. But all my efforts went unheeded. What ever I was now, I was invisible and inaudible to the domain I knew. I really was dead.

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

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

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

I gazed at the dream-like scene before me. The early me, the me that lay in the casket, was dressed as for her wedding. Mom had promised me her bridal nightgown for my wedding. Instead, she had given it to me for my inhumation. A white velum covered my face like a fine mist. A large nosegay of calla lilies lay in my arms.

As I stared at the jewel casket, I began to focalise on the peaceable aspect, my face, beneath the veil. My field of battle of vision seemed to constringe, as if, without taking a step, I was moving closer and closer to the fount within the casket. Suddenly, I was no longer standing before the casket, but lying inside ; looking up through the hazy head covering that covered my face. I felt the cool satin of my nuptials dress turned burial gown. I smelled the fragrancy of the lilies.

I sensed the face of my jewel casket close all around. I remembered seeing a horror pic once about a woman being locked into a coffin by some madman. The image was of a jewel 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 rubber, warm bed ; not a prison, but instead a arrant shelter from the world.

I became aware of multitude passing by. Some paused but a bit then went on. Others stood or kneeled before the casket, seemingly lost in their sentiment. I could get a line whispered supplication. While I could not understand the Logos somehow I knew the word of honor were insignificant. The love they represented seemed to take figure as a shimmering light that grew in intensity with each offered prayer. I felt wave upon wave of the cool silver light 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 good sense of tote up peace greater 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 soul. I opened my eye and the light was gone. I was standing in the visitation room of the funeral home. All my booster and folk were gone. The funeral film 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 heyday all around. All the node have arrived. The church building is packed. I never realized how many mass cared about me.

The servicing is just beginning but already I see a gibe of the ethereal light source surrounding my coffin. 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 ill-use into the light and yielding to it and I will be swept away to somewhere wonderful 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 get me to the graveyard, say a few appropriate Word, and then they will turn down me into the grave that even now is open and waiting.

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