Divine Hope

by Jo O'Neil

  Chapter Six

  The Funeral

  A.M. led me to the orbing practice room while I endlessly chatted to him about how amusing it was to me, that a figure perceived to have great wisdom seemed to be always depicted as having white hair, usually long, and a fine white beard. God was naturally the absolute of this image, followed in no particular order by: Old Father Time, Merlin, and Father Christmas.

  ‘Serena, God can be found in all you have mentioned and everything else besides. To label God is a careless mistake which can lead to missing His love and blessings which reside everywhere,’ A.M. kindly informed me as he turned the handle to the bewitched, purpley-black, star encrusted door that gently propelled shooting stars out into the hallway we occupied, and blessed us with a stunning display of falling stars that glided down the vinyl doorway to the room where I would master the art to orb.

  The galaxy theme continued as we stepped inside, while in a steep contrast I was also reminded of a padded cell.

  Before I opted out of corporate law I had a client I represented in all her business affairs. That was until she was committed. At her family’s request, I did meet with her on one occasion at her new home. I was just thinking crisp white padded cells and images of mental patients wasn’t the imagery one needed for orbing practice, when the room magically altered.

  Piles of large luxurious cushions in a variety of colours now hid the padded cell floor. The monstrous mound rose so high, a good portion of the walls were also concealed. The part still visible had changed from clinical white to a rainbow of pastel colours, which complimented the vibrancy of the cushions. Seated high on the deluxe cushioning, I felt engulfed by my bright, star clustered surroundings.

  I looked at A.M. for an explanation.

  ‘Orbing can throw up challenges for the novice. God decided the change in room decor would help you focus more successfully. Do not fear, you will not fly off into space,’ A.M. reassured my unspoken concern. ‘God has commanded His Universe to keep you in the practice room until you are capable of orbing. The Universe obeys laws. One such law is the Universe will never question God’s authority.

  ‘Once you can form your sphere, we will travel together, orbs entwined so if you lose concentration you will stay safely enclosed in my orb’s protection.’

  I nodded to acknowledge I had understood, as I was certain my words would fail me given the dryness of my mouth.

  ‘Now, you have your magenta cloak so there is absolutely no reason why you cannot orb. If it does not work, it is purely psychological. The mind can struggle to believe that which it does not know.’

  ‘So I just need to have faith?’ I managed to say barely above a whisper.

  ‘Faith in God produces miraculous results. When there appears nowhere to turn and prospects are bleak, God will always find a way, for He is all knowing and seeing.’

  A.M. looked at my face which was becoming increasingly contorted as I concentrated on transforming my form into a globe.

  ‘Do not try so hard, Serena. How did it feel when I wrapped you in my cloak and you travelled in my orb?’

  ‘Thrilling!’ I almost shouted as my vocals recovered and my hardened, twisted face relaxed at the memory.

  A.M. smiled kindly and asked, ‘What else do you recall?’

  ‘I felt so light. I expected to feel squashed into a circular shape and . . .’

  ‘Concentrate on how you felt as opposed to what you anticipated. If you think logically about orbing, I may well still be trying to get you off the ground in the next millennium.’

  ‘I floated like a bubble as it drifts in the air just before it bursts.’

  ‘Your orb will not burst, Serena. Now, concentrate.’ Although A.M. was firm with me, his undertone was coated in love. ‘Did you doubt for one moment you could orb with me?’

  ‘You didn’t give me a chance to doubt, A.M. You whisked me up into your cloak before I knew what was happening.’

  ‘Had you objected, even non-verbally, your discontent would have grounded us. You are a powerful being, Serena. God made you in His likeness and bestowed to you His abilities. You can be, do, or have anything you desire. Do you wish to orb?’

  ‘Yes, but I’m a lawyer. I deal with facts, concrete, scientifically proven facts.’

  ‘Serena, forgive me for contradicting you, but I know if the only way you could win a case that you believed in was by unorthodox means, you would not hesitate, for you are an excellent lawyer who pursues every possibility. To orb is going to require you to access the part of your brain which accepts the unconventional.’

  A.M. was right. I am a stickler for traditionalism. On the other hand, when the need arises I can switch to be nonconformist. If ever there was a time which demanded me to acknowledge the free spirit side of my personality, that time was learning to orb.

  If I had been prepared by NASA, orbing would have been unproblematic. In the absence of such training, I invited my solution finding frontal lobe to reveal the key to enable me to change shapes and glide in a ball to my funeral. Appreciating my problem was at the extreme scale, I recalled reading the brain was more likely to solve a problem during sleep. So I closed my eyes, but not before I appreciated the support I was being offered by the Archangels I had been mentored by, who smoothly glided around the room in their vibrant orbs amidst a shower of stars and a constellation firework display.

  My breathing became more regulated as I relaxed. I pulled my cloak around me like a comfort blanket, until I felt the same safe cocooned sensation I had when A.M. engulfed me in his.

  I visualised myself becoming lighter. I often dived for stress relief from the highest board into the Olympic size pool my law firm housed in the company’s leisure complex. The moment my feet left the surface I was free, that was until I landed with a splash. If only I could trick my brain into thinking I had defied gravity, so instead of diving downwards I sprung upwards.

  At this thought, my brain switched to the Pilates wunda chair I had used. I found it to be an ingenious device to help me stretch and tone, and build stamina and strength. It required me to focus the work in my abdominal muscles so my feet could become light enough to lift the arm of the chair off the floor. I remembered how I thought at first it was an impossible feat, but slowly and steadily, with much determination the arm rose.

  I smiled at the memory of my achievement. It had been a particularly trying time at work. Everything had been going wrong. I was mentally exhausted, and despite the fact I could ill afford the time, I needed to balance my body with some physical exertion that didn’t involve the time taken to wash and style my hair which swimming would dictate. Pilates was ideal as I could chose to restrain myself and therefore hardly even perspire, eliminating the need for timely maintenance. My accomplishment at the Pilates studio fired my determination to succeed and win my client all of her unreasonable demands on her ex-husband.

  As I reflected that particular case, I saw magenta sparks behind my tightly shut eyes just before there was a very light thud as I fell on to the cushion base.

  ‘You were floating. Another few seconds and you would have gained enough height to change into orb form,’ A.M. praised me.

  ‘I was floating? YIPPEE! Why didn’t you tell me I had levitated?’

  ‘I did not want to break your concentration. You were doing brilliantly until you remembered you had helped an individual with unscrupulous demands. Try it again without the later memory.’

  I did as A.M. requested, careful only to dwell on the excitement of my triumph with the wunda chair. I forced myself to let euphoria consume me until I experienced the same thrill I had when A.M. orbed with me. As I opened my eyes, my surroundings were tinged with the slightest magenta glow which confirmed I had done it; I was safely encased in my very own orb.

  In orb form, A.M. took my hand to the applause of the Archangels who transfigured back to their celestial bodies just as the padded walls opened outwards, scattering
the cushions to reveal the most heavenly view. As we floated out into heavens atmosphere that had altered from the great expanse of the Milky Way to a glorious sunny day, I noticed if I looked where our orb’s merged a tint of mauve coloured the amazing scene before us.

  The wonders I had seen on earth were incomparable to those in God’s land. We flew over a waterfall of greater magnitude than Niagara Falls, and at the waterfalls base was a lake larger than the Caspian Sea. Lush green fields, more picturesque than any English countryside scene, rolled into the distance where they were met by great snow capped mountains. Multi coloured streams trickled down the glassy, black faces of these granite monsters and continued at the base, channeling the grassy vista with various shades of the colours of the rainbow as well as silver and gold, before merging with hot springs which bubbled in the brilliance of the sunlight.

  A God made bubble machine ejected perfectly formed, different coloured spheres from the springs into the ether, which the baby unicorns that played in the heavenly landscape chased and burst with their gleaming white spiral horns. The adult unicorns looked over their young, their golden horns sparkling in the suns vividness. And then, just as I thought I couldn’t possibly witness anything else to rival the sight before me, we were accompanied by a herd of white winged horses. Their magnificent manes blew in the gentle crosswind, which mercifully didn’t affect my own thick mass of hair courtesy of my orbs protection.

  Orbing into the snow covered crematorium seemed mundane after soaring through heaven with the Pegasus.

  As the shivering pallbearers carried my body to the tune of Roberta Flacks version of Killing Me Softly, my attention was drawn to the heavily decorative, stainless steel casket my body was occupying. As a priority I would make an amendment to my will specifying exactly what coffin I would like to be cremated in, as the box before me was totally unsuitable to be my final resting place. I couldn’t believe I had neglected such detail, especially since I knew the fashion gaffs the women who raised me made, so there was no doubt in my mind who had chosen the monstrosity. If I had thought for one minute my time would be up before hers, I would certainly have already taken care of every detail.

  The pallbearers, who I vaguely recognised as distant cousins, clumsily placed my coffin down next to me. I was sure they would have been more careful if they knew I was watching them.As I looked around at the bereaved who occupied the circular room, my eyes fell on the chief mourner sitting at the front of the sun blessed room on an ornamental, gold framed chair, with a plump scarlet cushioned seat. True to form, the black outfit she was wearing was a miss-match of styles, none of which were suitable for a funeral, and even less appropriate for the climate which had dropped over ten degrees in the week since my death. As I looked into her swollen red eyes which she hadn’t bothered to conceal with sunglasses, even though the cloudless sky permitted the sun to make such accessories acceptable, I dropped the criticism and prayed.

  ‘Dear God. If you can see the state my mother is in, please either:

  a)Freeze time so my mother doesn’t suffer anymore

  b)Get a message to her so she is privy to Your illusion

  c)Speed up my assignment so I can get back to my life with minimal grief to my mother

  Thank you. Love Serena xxx

  P.S. Where my dad is concerned, ditto to all of the above.’

  ‘God has heard you, and He could not be prouder of you, Serena, for putting the feelings of others before your own is a beautiful act of kindness. God wants you to know He is with your parents now helping them through this phase, and once normality is restored, everything will be returned to exactly as it is destined to be without any lasting harmful effects.’

  ‘Thank you, A.M. That is some comfort. I’m shocked I felt so sad for all those who are mourning me. Yet, since I sent my prayer to God, I feel totally detached from their emotion and my own body which is currently occupying that distasteful casket.’ I needlessly gestured towards the offensive burial-box. ‘I’m not even concerned how I look, even though I suspect my mother has instructed the funeral home to dress me in some hideous outfit, suitably warm for the weather, and my makeup, if I’m wearing any, has probably seen better days’. But none of that matters to me – honestly. I don’t even think I will be upset if you don’t let me peak inside to see if someone at the funeral home has overridden my mother so I will at least be cremated with some style.’

  ‘It is one thing to see your coffin, Serena. To see your lifeless body could be too damaging for you. Be that as it may, God will not stop you if you decide to look.’

  ‘Is that because I have free will to choose for myself?’

  ‘That’s exactly right, Serena. God can guide you. Still, it is up to you whether or not you listen and take notice.’

  I looked to my side where my outlandish coffin lay. Before I could weigh up the pros and cons of sticking my head inside, my service began.

  As the veteran and portly vicar swayed in his pulpit while he said all the right things such as: I was too young to die; a promising career cut off in its prime; family and friends cruelly bereaved, I caught a glimpse of a photograph propped up on a table the opposite side of my coffin. I skirted around my casket to take a closer look. There in full view of my closest friends and on display for my esteemed colleagues to see, was my graduation photograph, proudly framed in silver. My mother couldn’t have picked a worse shot if she’d tried.

  I had been going through an experimental stage and had learnt my hair didn’t suit my face short. I hadn’t worn my hair short since, so why my crazy mother thought this was the best photo to stand next to my coffin was beyond my comprehension. What about all the lovely shots taken of me at Cousin Eddie’s wedding only months’ before?!

  As I neurotically fussed over my mother’s poor choice, the vicar, quite unaware of my displeasure, asked the congregation to stand for the first hymn. As the grieving lifted the crematoriums rafters with ‘Jerusalem,’ all my accusations over the photo blunder were forgotten as I sang along to my favourite hymn.

  I wasn’t much of a singer, but I would never fake it unlike some I could mention; I zoned into Molly who was standing just behind my parents and who was obviously forming words without any noise escaping. Figuring I was safe to sing my heart out on this occasion as apart from A.M. who was going to hear tone-death-soon-to-be-honorary-angel-me, I lingered on the last word a little bit longer than everyone else. Nonetheless, I was just as surprised as my mourners were that everyone could hear me! I looked to A.M. for an explanation.

  ‘Have I told you God has a wonderful sense of humour,’ A.M. reminded me.

  I stayed silent, not wishing to add to the ghost whispers and worried looks which were rippling through my service if God decided to prolong the practical joke.

  Haunting murmurs were soon forgotten as sobs and sniffles could be heard when my father traded places with the vicar, who attempted to comfort my mother as my father determinedly read my eulogy.

  ‘Serena was our little girl, our only child whose every move we doted on.’ He glanced towards my mother’s shaking body before visually struggling to proceed. ‘We chose the name Serena after a holiday in Italy where we first heard and loved the name which means: composure, peacefulness, and cheerfulness. Serena exemplified these noble qualities her entire short life.’

  Tears began to trickle down my cheeks in an automatic, emotional response to my father’s words. I bit my bottom lip in an attempt to deactivate them as he continued.

  ‘Her mother and I were so proud when she graduated with honours,’ he said, as he twisted his lean body and gestured with his long, dexterous fingers on his left hand towards my picture.

  ‘NO! Don’t draw people’s attention to that awful shot,’ I shouted, all trace of tears gone. My outburst was pointless as this time no one could hear me except A.M, and he was ignoring my lack of composure. Perhaps my parents didn’t know me as well as they thought they did, as I certainly w
asn’t living up to the characterisation of my name.

  ‘Law was the perfect career choice for Serena as she always helped the underdog.’

  One of the senior partners at Collins, Harper, and Jones Solicitors stifled a cough at my father’s statement. Was that bemusement on his face? There was nothing vaguely ‘underdog-ish’ about the clients Collins, Harper, and Jones represented. To afford our fees, one most definitely had to be top-dog.

  ‘I cannot find the words to express how distraught Serena’s mother and I are to find ourselves here, in this crematorium saying farewell to our beloved daughter.’

  There were gasps from the gathering. Tissues could be seen in front of almost every face. My father struggled to collect himself. His tall, slim frame stooped like one does when experiencing excruciating pain. Mustering all of his strength, he carried on in the same resolute fashion.

  ‘You all know why Serena’s death has been added to the statists. Our society puts too much pressure on young women in particular, to . . .’ he bowed his head and activated the same lip biting exercise which I had employed to control my emotions, ‘conform to a certain standard; to look a certain way; to never have a hair out of place.’ He looked and sounded angry now, but in the pause that followed he softened before he said, ‘Serena’s mother and I are determined Serena’s death will make a difference. We are setting up a charity to counsel anyone drawn to plastic surgery. We want to ensure the operating table is the absolute last resort. There should be no such term as a ‘routine operation’ as all surgery carries a risk. God knows Serena paid that price.’ His voice trailed off at the end.

  ‘Furthermore,’ his words had power behind them again, ‘we wish to campaign so regardless of the size of one’s nose,’ (I sighed with relief that he hadn’t said ‘breasts’) ‘the crookedness of one’s mouth, and the sagginess of one’s belly,’ (he had me holding my breath again as I was sure he was going to say ‘boobs’) ‘every women loves herself exactly as she is. This will not be an excuse for obesity. Rather, it will be an exercise in love. Replacing feelings of dissatisfaction and unworthiness with love, will undoubtedly save lives and ensure there is a better tomorrow for our future generations.’

  My father stumbled back to his seat to rapturous applause. I had even started to clap myself, and then I stopped abruptly as I’d had a worrying thought.

  ‘A.M., if my parents are going to make such a difference to the world with this new charity, all as a result of my death, will God change His mind about returning me to my body?’ I asked nervously.

  ‘God is truthful, Serena. He has given His word. Besides, there is more than one way a new idea can form. If God feels mankind needs this charity, His work will be done.’

  Satisfied with A.M.’s answer, I turned my attention back to my funeral.

  My parents had each placed a single magenta rose on my coffin, before they made their way to the snow tinted crematorium gardens. The same music I had heard in God’s chambers played my mourners out into the crisp sunshine; I smiled as I figured these coincidences were further examples of God’s wondrous sense of fun.

  After aimlessly staring at the many wreaths which had been sent by various acquaintances to express their condolences, the mourners, bundled in their winter finery in an attempt to ward off the bitterness of the unseasonably cold weather, paid their respects to my parents. Many congratulated my father on his eulogy performance, and offered donations and support for the charity.

  As I watched the steady stream of passersby, I was feeling a warm satisfied glow on account that even though my life review had been disappointing, my life must have contributed some good as there were a great deal of people gathered to pay tribute to me.

  As I observed the crowd, I saw one of the senior partners, Mr. Harper, approach my parents. His face looked sincerely saddened. I heard him say I had been an asset to the firm and I would be greatly missed. I was just thinking I should ask for a pay rise when I returned to work, when I saw her – Hope Harper was at my funeral!