The Color of Heaven

by Julianne MacLean

  “It’s not that. I’m just confused. I don’t understand something.” He scrutinized my face.

  “What?”

  “How did you know you died? Because you never regained consciousness. Or did you?

  I wet my lips and contemplated how best to answer the question.

  “I’m not really sure you’d believe it if I told you. I still don’t quite believe it myself.”

  “Try me.”

  For a few seconds, I stared at him and considered peddling backwards over my words. I could tell him that I did wake briefly, and one of the nurses told me what happened.

  But what if he asked how I knew about Mom and Matt? Part of me wanted desperately to tell him the truth. I wanted to ask him more questions about that time in his life, and I wanted to tell someone about my experiences at the bottom of the lake, when I watched my body convulse and go still, just before I took part in a conversation with my daughter, who had been dead for a year.

  And what about the ride in the ambulance? I had every intention of seeking out the paramedic whose dog had died and was brought back to life. I wanted to ask her questions and cross-check my own memories and observations with what she remembered about the drive to the hospital.

  I wanted answers. Proof.

  Then I realized there was a much easier way to determine whether or not I had actually visited my dead mother in some alternate, heavenly dimension.

  “Dad,” I said. “Tell me something.”

  “Okay.”

  I managed to lean up on one elbow. “The first time you kissed Mom… Where were you?”

  His expression softened, and he looked toward the window as he remembered it. “We were at the lake near our old house in Camden. It was the first warm day of spring, and we had just gone for a swim. I was fifteen years old.”

  A shiver of happiness rippled up my spine, and goose bumps covered my body. “Yes, that’s right,” I said with a smile, nodding my head at him.

  He looked at me strangely and I knew in that moment that I was going to tell him everything.

  Because we were no longer disconnected.

  Chapter Fifty-two

  Dad had no choice but to believe me after I was able to describe the most intimate details about his courtship with Mom, including their break-up and what happened in the hospital when Matt went in for surgery. There was no way I could have known these things unless Mom had told me, and he knew she hadn’t, at least not when she was alive.

  (Later, when I was fully recovered, I was interviewed by an endless parade of doctors and experts on the subject of near-death experiences, including a scholar from Germany who was writing a book and wanted to include my story in his research. I also made appearances on a few network talk shows. But I’m getting ahead of myself.)

  When I finished telling Dad about my experiences “on the other side,” he called Jen right away and asked her to come to the hospital.

  She arrived a short while later and burst into tears when she saw me sitting up, eating lunch.

  Dad left us alone and went home to her place to take a shower.

  I decided to wait before I told her the whole story and divulged the fact that we were only half-sisters because our mother had once loved another man. I just wanted to visit with her for a while.

  Turns out I’m glad I waited, because Jen had something equally important to tell me, and she could barely contain herself.

  “There’s something you should know,” she said as she rolled the lunch table away from my bed.

  “Sounds like juicy gossip.”

  She bit her lip and nodded.

  “Well, spit it out then.”

  She continued to keep me waiting, as if she wasn’t sure how to explain whatever it was she needed to tell me.

  “Hey,” I said. “I died last week, remember? Whatever it is, it can’t possibly be any more shocking than that. Seriously, at this point, I can take anything you throw at me, so give it your best.”

  She chuckled. “It’s not a bad thing. In fact, I think it’s really sweet, but you might be creeped out, that’s all.”

  “Jen, I promise you, after what I’ve been through, nothing is going to creep me out.”

  She sat down in the chair by the bed and her cheeks flushed with color. “You know how Dad told you that he and I took turns sitting by your side since the night of the accident?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, it wasn’t just the two of us. You had another visitor, too. Someone who was very devoted, and came every night after supper.”

  My attention floated to all the flower arrangements on the windowsill, and those on the far table. I hadn’t looked at any of the cards yet.

  “Was it Michael?” But I found that difficult to imagine. He hated hospitals, and his cheery, bouncy fiancée was due to give birth fairly soon.

  “No, it wasn’t Michael. It was Kirk Duncan.”

  She might as well have tossed a glass of water in my face. I was, indeed, that shocked.

  I sat straight up. “Really?”

  I hadn’t seen Kirk since the year after he left for college. We’d exchanged emails a few times, of course, but that was it.

  “Kirk was here? In this room?”

  “Yes. Every night for a week. I suspect he’ll be here again tonight, unless I call him and tell him you’re awake. Then he might come sooner. Or not at all. Who knows?”

  I was flattered and touched, and slightly giddy at the notion that my high school sweetheart had come to my so-called deathbed.

  “Wow,” I said. “I guess I was wrong about not being surprised. I’m speechless.”

  “I can see that,” Jen replied. “I knew you would be.”

  Tipping my head back on the pillow, I wondered what he looked like now. Did he still have all his hair? Had his smile changed?

  “I’m going to need to brush my teeth,” I said, in a bit of a dazed stupor. “And take a shower.” I looked around for the call button. “Can we get a nurse in here? I’ll need some help.”

  Jen stood up. “I’ve got it covered. Nurse!” she shouted. “We need some help in here!”

  An older, heavy-set nurse came running into the room. “What is it?” Her eyes darted to the heart monitor, then back at me.

  “Don’t worry,” Jen said. “She’s still alive, but she needs to get cleaned up and get her hair washed. Maybe put on some makeup.”

  The nurse folded her arms. “This isn’t a beauty spa, ladies. It’s a hospital, and we’re short-staffed today. We’ll get around to you eventually.”

  Jen boldly approached her. “I don’t think you understand.” She pointed at me. “That woman’s high school sweetheart could be here at any moment, and she hasn’t seen him in years. And she was dead a week ago!”

  The nurse peered around Jen’s shoulder to take a look at me. “Does she mean the guy who was here last week? The one with the guitar?”

  I felt a tingling heat spread to my cheeks. “He brought his guitar?”

  Jen spoke over her shoulder. “Yes, and he played for you.”

  “That’s just so Kirk.”

  The nurse moved around Jen and stood at the foot of my bed. “How many years has it been since you’ve seen this man?”

  “About twenty.”

  Her shoulders rose and fell with a deep sigh of defeat, then she marched around the bed and folded back the covers. “Well, get up then, princess. We can’t have you smelling like a coma patient when Romeo arrives.” She glanced at Jen. “Do you have some lipstick? Maybe a little blush? She’s still a bit pale.”

  “Oh yes,” Jen replied, pulling an enormous cosmetic bag out of her purse. “I have everything.”

  Chapter Fifty-three

  Jen called Kirk that afternoon to tell him the good news – that I was out of the coma and doing just fine.

  He was pleased to hear it and promised to come by after work.

  Sure enough, shortly after I finished my supper on a tray, a knock rapped lightly at the door.
r />   Jen gave me a look, then called out, “Come in!”

  Suddenly there he was – Kirk, my first love, wearing a soft brown leather jacket and jeans, his guitar case slung across his back.

  My heart skipped a beat at the sight of him. He still looked exactly the same. He hadn’t aged a day, except for a few strands of grey in his wavy brown hair.

  My whole body warmed with affection, and his eyes lit up with joy.

  “Oh, wow.” He shook his head in disbelief and gestured toward me with a hand. “I don’t think I’ve ever been so happy to see somebody awake.”

  I smiled. “Hi Kirk.”

  He set his guitar case on the floor and approached the bed. He sat down on the edge of it. “Thank God you’re okay.”

  “I’m fine now.” I held out my arms. “But I could use a hug.” He leaned closer, and we embraced.

  “It’s so good to see you,” I whispered. “I can’t believe you’re here.”

  “I prayed every day.”

  I was vaguely aware of Jen discreetly tiptoeing out of the room.

  Sitting back, Kirk continued to hold my hand. “You look terrific.”

  “So do you. Jen told me you were here this week, and that you played your guitar for me. I wish I could remember. I hate the fact that I missed it.”

  “Don’t worry about it. I can play for you anytime, and I suspect you’ll be a much better audience now.”

  We were both quiet for a moment.

  “It’s been a rough year for you, hasn’t it?” he said.

  I glanced down at our joined hands. “Yes, it has.”

  “Well… the way I see it, things can only get better from here.”

  I thought of what Matt had said to me on the other side, and smiled. “I’m sure you’re right about that.”

  Suddenly I felt a wave of emotion rise up inside me, and my heart beat fast with anticipation. I was so grateful to be alive. To have been given a second chance at finding happiness again.

  “At least I’m still here,” I said. “Though I’m not sure what I did to deserve such a miracle.”

  “It must have been one heck of a miracle,” he replied. “Forty minutes, Sophie. You came back after forty minutes. That’s got to be a record.”

  I laughed. “Crazy, isn’t it?”

  “It’s insane. But you always were a fighter.”

  “I guess so.”

  “So what was it like?” he asked. “Do you remember anything? Did you see a white light? Or maybe you’d prefer not to talk about it.”

  Looking into his familiar green eyes, I realized that the passing of time meant very little in relation to the soul. I had not seen this man for almost twenty years, but it felt as if we had been together the entire time, and had not spent a single day apart. I was as comfortable with him now as I had been when we were a couple, intimately in love. I trusted him wholeheartedly and knew that he would never let me down.

  “I would like to talk about it with you,” I said. “But maybe another time, if that’s okay. After I get out of here. Right now, I just want to hear about you.” Feeling tired all of a sudden, I rested my head on the pillow. “Tell me about your life. Are you still teaching music? I want to know everything. Don’t leave anything out.”

  He stared into my eyes for the longest time, then leaned close and kissed me on the cheek. “I’ve really missed you, Sophie. I’m glad you came back.”

  I wrapped my arms around his neck and whispered into his ear. “Me, too.”

  That one special moment, all on its own, was worth coming back for.

  Then I remembered what Matt had said to me on the beach, and I was confident that there would be more moments like this in my future. The good and the bad – it would all come in waves.

  Chapter Fifty-four

  I spent another week in the hospital, recovering from the accident and slowly regaining my strength.

  Kirk visited me each night, and almost immediately, there was an unspoken understanding between us – that we were entering into another long-term, committed relationship that would probably last forever this time.

  As I said before, it felt like not a single day had passed since high school, when we were head over heels in love with each other, and shared the same values and desires. This time we were going to leap in with both feet. I had no doubts or fears. It simply felt right on every level, and when I was finally able to go home, he was the one who picked me up and drove me to Jen’s house.

  Very quickly, however, we decided that life was too short, so I moved in with him a week later.

  My story doesn’t end here, however. There’s still so much more to tell.

  Chapter Fifty-five

  I mentioned that people were curious about my death and out-of-body experience, and for a while I was willing to participate in interviews and medical studies. But it soon grew exhausting, and I just wanted to live my life. I was a writer, and if you’ve ever known a writer intimately – or if you are one – you will understand that we are a different breed. Writing is a solitary occupation, and we like it that way.

  All I wanted to do after I recovered was tell my story, but not in front of cameras or live audiences. I needed peace and quiet if I was going to find the right words.

  So here we are. As you can see, by the evidence before you, I returned to writing and remembered how to put words, even difficult ones, down on paper.

  But again, I’m getting ahead of myself.

  Before I wrote this story, I worked on something else – something very different, which garnered great critical acclaim.

  That story will always hold a special place in my heart, for it was the compass that pointed me back to the true essence of my life.

  Chapter Fifty-six

  Spring came early that year. When the snow and ice melted and a scented breeze blew across the front veranda of Kirk’s country house one warm Sunday afternoon, we decided to take a trip to the Cape and book ourselves into a quaint little B&B, drink lots of wine, and stroll along the beach for three glorious days.

  It was just what I needed to mark the end of my recovery. Time alone with Kirk, my first love, who had never left my heart.

  Time to appreciate the splendor of the life I had not squandered, and to comprehend the magic of the sea, the earth, and sky.

  Each night, while the surf thundered wondrously outside our window, we made love with great tenderness and passion.

  This was it – real love – a lifetime of it, exploding out of my soul. At last we were together, home in each other’s arms after too many years apart.

  But this time we were grown-ups, and nothing was going to tear us apart.

  On our last night at the inn, Kirk took my hand and led me onto the beach for a last midnight stroll. The moon was full and bright, reflecting off the dark water, and the waves spread across the sand with smooth, glistening freedom.

  “Sophie,” Kirk whispered in my ear.

  Just the sound of my name on his lips sent a feverish swell of desire down the length of my body.

  He slid his hand around my waist and pulled me close. “You know I love you. I always have, and always will. So please…” He got down on one knee, took both my hands in his, and kissed my open palms. “Marry me, Sophie. Be my wife. Stay with me forever, because I don’t ever want to be without you again.”

  All the joy in the universe descended upon me in that incredible moment, and I laughed joyfully through my tears. “Of course I’ll marry you.” I dropped to my knees as well on the cool, shifting sand. “You’re the great love of my life. I know it now, more surely than anything.”

  We were married two weeks later in a small civil ceremony on the back lawn of our country home, and as soon as school let out, we traveled to the Greek island of Santorini for our honeymoon.

  Chapter Fifty-seven

  In September of that year, I woke one morning with a dream in my head. Or rather, the vivid recollection of a moment in my mother’s kitchen, when she shared a specific detail
with me:

  Over the next five days, Matt and I spent every possible moment together. He wouldn’t let me skip any classes, so he dropped me off five minutes before class began, and was there outside the building waiting for me when I came out.

  If I had assignments or papers to write, he took me to the library, sat next to me, and worked on finishing his own book while I studied or researched.

  I remembered my father’s words on the beach. You just need to recognize inspiration when it strikes.

  I had been waiting a long time for such a lightning strike, for the motivation to return to my writing, and suddenly there it was – not so much like a bolt of lightning, but like a star falling out of the sky and landing on my lap.

  Tossing the covers aside, I leaped out of bed. A few seconds later, I was dialing my father’s number in Augusta.

  “Dad, when we moved out of the house in Camden, what happened to all the stuff in the attic? The boxes and trunks full of papers? It was mostly Mom’s stuff – her college assignments and memorabilia. Did we get rid of it?”

  “Of course not,” he replied. “I saved everything. I couldn’t very well part with it, now could I?”

  My heart began to beat wildly. “So it’s there at your place?”

  “Yes. I’m looking up at the ceiling right now. It’s all there, over my head.”

  I smiled. “Can I come and see you, and go through some of it?”

  He paused. “You sound excited. Are you looking for something special?”

  “Yes.” I told him what it was, and he whistled into the phone. “I’ll be there soon,” I said.

  “I’ll be waiting for you.”

  There was no proper staircase to Dad’s attic, only a square door in the upper hall ceiling with a ladder that folded down on rusty hinges.

  I had not gone into the attic since I was fourteen years old. After we had carried all of Mom’s things up that rickety ladder, we closed the door behind us and that was the end of it. We forced ourselves to forget it was ever there, to pretend it didn’t exist.

  But it did exist. It was right there above us all these years.

  Carefully I climbed up and peered around the small space under my father’s peaked roof. A tiny oval window provided some light. It smelled musty and old.