The Days After Death:
A letter to my son
by D. L. Burris
No sign of an angel. No guide to the Great Beyond. But think of it, God only knows how many people had died this very day. Then it hit me. I probably should have gone straight home. In fact, that made all the sense in the world. Ten to one, the Dearly Departed were picked up at their last known address.
Supposing right this very moment some kind of angel person was looking for me. But if basically, that is their only job, shouldn't they be able to find me? Clearly a wake-up call was in order just to expose the deep flaws in this system if, indeed, it could even be called a system. So far it had all the earmarks of a big, unresponsive monopoly. Okay, so I may not believe in a specific heaven, but surely you have to go somewhere. I have way too much leadership to sit around confined to watching mold grow in my coffin. I would be more than willing to serve on some kind of committee, maybe something like a Transition Improvement Committee, just to help things become better organized, to help establish a more orderly progression from the grave to...wherever.
Well then, off to my last known address. Whoever is looking for me can make use of all his cosmic knowledge to find me there. Waiting here at Rose Hills might make me run the risk of getting mixed up with some of the spirits who have not been picked up, those losers who never figure out the next step. This was probably a test anyway. Losers staying in one spot milling around, waiting for something to "happen." People like me, figuring things out for themselves, knowing what steps to take next, delegating, and then moving on to the next project. In fact, the so-called "afterlife" is probably just divided between the losers and dependant plodders on one side, living the same way they did on earth. Winners on the other side, carving out their own destinies, pulling strings, getting things done. Now that made sense. Why should it be any different here than it was on earth?
All right then, on to my porch. Still, Derek, it was a big annoyance, and just when I had found such peace. But I was tired, this funeral business had taken the stuffing out of me. Now, dealing with all this blatant lack of organization...well, would it harm matters to just take a rest? What would "they" do? Fire me for sleeping on the job?
Excerpted from The Days After Death: A letter to my son by D. L. Burris. Copyright © 2009 by Delores L. Burris. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without permission in writing from the author.
