The Bessie Series - Books 1-3

28. Heaven

In what might be loosely referred to as a children’s playground, complete with swings, slides, monkey bars, and so on, Angel Mel climbs onto the seat of a gigantic teeter-totter, motioning to Bessie to climb on the other end. Despite the obvious disparity in size, they are miraculously in balance.

Angel Mel is up in the air. “This is nice,” he says. “This is nice.”

Now it’s Bessie’s turn to be up high. She asks him, “Is a coma a bad way to die, Mel?”

“There is no bad death, Bessie,” he replies. “There’s just, well, death.” He’s back up in the air. “Just part of life. A transition. Now, life, that’s painful. Hell, life will kill ya!” He giggles at his little joke.

Sometime later, they find themselves side-by-side on skyscraper-sized swings, swooping up and up in perfect unison. “After death,” Angel Mel continues, “that is, after your incarnation is over, your soul emerges from your body like a, like a …” On cue, a flock of monarch butterflies flutters near them at nose-height. He elaborates, “Like a beautiful butterfly emerging from a cocoon.”

The angel and Bessie seem to hang suspended, high, high in the air, surrounded by exquisite monarchs. He completes his thought, “And then you fly.”

* * *

Later on, they sit companionably across from each other in a huge sandbox, building a castle worthy of Westminster Cathedral. Bessie taps out a Hector’s Nectar cup full of packed sand to create a new turret. “But will it hurt, when I remember?”

Angel Mel scoops up sand with his paper cup. He explains, “When you remember, it will be like, like watching a movie. Paul Newman gets blown up. And then he goes to the premiere with his lovely wife, Joanne Woodward.”

Bessie adds another turret, patting it down. She expands, “Like watching life stories in the Past Lives Theater.”

“Exactly,” Angel Mel agrees, adjusting a pillar, causing a minor crash.

“Like when Ash and I watched John Kennedy get assassinated,” Bessie says.

He looks at her, smiling. “The proverbial penny drops.”

* * *

After awhile they find themselves sitting on a bench, watching toddlers play on monkey bars. Shrieks of glee blend with bursts of giggles. Angel Mel taps Bessie’s shoulder to offer her some of his NecNac Snaks. He asks her seriously, “Have I ever steered you wrong, Bessie?”

The young girl turns a rarely seen earnest face to him. “Where is she, my mother? And why can’t I remember how I died?”

He reaches forward to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, his expression tender. “Wait, I have an idea.” He stands up to his full impressive height. His wings materialize and he spreads them wide. Wrapping Bessie into them, he lifts off into the clear, cloudless sky.