This is not meant to be a religious document of any kind.

With it I am not aspiring to convert anyone, to instruct anyone, or to answer anyones questions but my own. This is just a story. God is a word that scares a lot of people, which is a shame, since in the end its just a word. When I use it, I refer to whatever it is that invented this universe we live in. Anything that could have done that is not something Id dare to limit to my own feeble perception. I believe that God could have many faces, even one for each of us. Maybe for some he is something that doesnt wear a face. Maybe none of us are right, maybe we a" are. For me he has been a person; a father, a mother, a hero...and a #iend. With greatest respect, with apologies for any of the ctions that dont do him justice, and most of a", with so much love; I dedicate this story to my God.

Chapter 1--The Accident I opened my eyes to see an older man standing over me, his deep brown eyes full of concern. You okay sweetie? he asked me kindly. I blinked and looked around myself, confused. Uh, yeah, I think... I checked my legs for cuts or bruises, and was surprised to discover that they were not only intact, but that I couldnt even determine any sensation of pain anywhere in my body. I guess I was really lucky, I commented groggily, as the man helped me to my feet. He laughed. Lucky? No. Everyone gets the same treatment around here. He winked. You can choose to believe that means youre all special, or that no one is, thats entirely up to you. As I stood up it struck me that my bicycle was gone, and secondly, that I was no longer standing in the rain on Main Street, but in a lush meadow in the sunshine. I turned around twice in puzzlement, and then asked my new friend, But...wasnt it raining a second ago? And wheres my bike? And wheres Main Street, and the guy who ran into me? And...? He tut-tutted and gestured to a boulder a few meters away. Lets sit down, child, you and I have some catching up to do. The man was tall, about sixty years old, Id have guessed. His features were chiseled, and it was clear that he had once been very handsome. The place in which I found myself was almost unrealistically green, like Dorothys first technicolour glimpse of Oz. We were walking away from an imposing wrought-iron gate, suggesting that we had entered through it, but that I couldnt recall. The rock we were approaching formed a natural bench, and was arboured by beech trees climbing with roses and wisteria. The man gestured in a courtly manner for me to be seated first, and then he sat down next to me. So... he began, smiling at me as though he was enjoying some private joke at my expense. You dont remember what happened? I shook my head slowly, trying to recall. I was riding my bicycle, it was raining, I was late for my next class, so I was hurrying. I tried to cross Main St. against the signal--I did look, there was no one coming!--but this guy in an SUV came speeding around the corner, and...I think I tried to stop but it was slippery. Then I thought I had smashed my head, but I guess not. I blacked out and then...I woke up here. He nodded, looking at me expectantly, waiting for my own words to sink in for me. Wait. I looked around again at the garden, and began to get a little nervous. Im...who are you? Whats happening? The man took my hand, and patted it gently. You know who I am. Youve always known me, and Ive always

been here, though sometimes you didnt choose to see that. And youre not dead, dear, I know thats what youre thinking. Not yet. I began to say something, but he cut me off. Oh, and by the way, he pursed his lips disapprovingly, There are worse things that can happen to you than death. So dont get all melodramatic on me, okay? I was speechless. We sat for a couple moments in silence, as he allowed me to collect my thoughts. Finally I looked up and ventured a question. So, what is this place? Is it heaven? If Im not dead, why am I here? He laughed up-roaringly. You people kill me, he cried, wiping his eyes. Your questions at the beginning are so bizarre. He grew suddenly serious. But dont stop asking. Thats the whole point, you know. Down there you wont always find the answers, partly because truth wears a disguise and partly because you are blinded by your own mortality, but the important thing is to keep asking. Now, to answer your question. No, you are not in Heaven. You are just inside the gate, youre not in the house. Youre here because you arent really down there at the moment, and, well... he coughed uncomfortably, basically we had to put you somewhere. Just then a tall, grim looking man in an austere navy blue suit came strolling up. Excuse me, sir, he whispered deferentially to my companion. Im afraid we have to push this business forward, so were out of time for the moment. He regarded me impassively, and handed some papers to my friend, who inspected them through a pair of dignified spectacles. He sighed. Always one more thing, he muttered in an exasperated tone. Then he turned to me. Well my dear, until the next time, then. You see the gate just there? He pointed back to the direction from which we came. If you wouldnt mind just trotting on through there, but Ill see you back here soon...one way or another. He smiled sadly, as if he was sorry to see me go, and then he took my hand again. My dear, its not going to be so nice, the next bit, but...either way youll be fine, okay? I want you to remember that. And remember to keep asking. And remember that just because you cant see me doesnt mean Im not there. He looked like he was would like to continue this spout of random advice, but a look from the tall man in blue reminded him to check his words. Goodbye, dear, he said, waving me off. *** By the time I reached the gate, the two men had disappeared. My mind was racing as I turned the handle of the gate and stepped through, but every last thought was promptly knocked out again as I felt a blinding flash of pain in my skull. I quickly stepped back, and the pain stopped. I shook my head, and tried once more. This time I screamed out, it was so excruciating. But this time as I tried to step back I found I couldnt. I felt icy hands pulling me forward, then a swift kick knocked me to the pavement, where I was immediately soaked to the bone. I tried to move my left leg and found that it was dangling in a most unnatural way. I guess the pain in my head was preventing me from feeling anything else. Through this daze of physical agony I noted the crowd of concerned faces, the exclamations of shes alive!, a paramedic fiddling with a tube that appeared to have lodged itself in my arm, and two more burly paramedics lifting me into an ambulance.

The ride to the hospital was almost unbearable. I drifted in and out of consciousness, and vaguely heard myself being discussed in gruesomely medical terms by the paramedics. I tried to ask them to call my mother, but the words just came out as moans of agony. When we got to the hospital I was rushed into emergency surgery, where a stony-faced nurse told me they had tried to contact my parents, but it seemed no one was home. She asked me if they had a mobile to call, and I croaked out a no. By this time tears were streaming from my eyes and stinging in the cuts on my face. I would have given anything for my mothers hand to hold. There there, said the nurse absent mindedly. She held a tube of gas up to my face and told me to breath deeply. For a second I thought I caught a glimpse of an older man with kindly brown eyes, standing behind the nurse. He gave me an encouraging smile...and then, with a moan of relief, I blacked out again. Chapter 2--Waking Up I opened my eyes on a mountain landscape, a panoramic view spread out beneath me. I was sitting on a cliff, my legs dangling nonchalantly over the edge, fully intact and bruise-free. I was just marveling at my daring to be sitting so close to the edge, when a voice startled me so I almost lost my balance. Nice to see you again so soon. A strong hand landed on my arm to steady me, and when I looked up I saw it belonged to a young woman around my own age, seated on the rocks beside me. Her skin was blackest black, and she was so slim she looked like she could have been snapped in half with two fingers. She smiled, revealing stunningly white teeth, and asked me how I felt. Well, good right now...not so good a couple minutes ago, though, I said ruefully, rubbing my head where the pain had been. She looked apologetic. I know, Im sorry. I told you the next bit would be kind of hard. She sighed. But anyway, now youre here, and you can rest for a while. Shall we walk a bit? She offered me her hand to help me to my feet, and we began strolling along the cliff. So, began the lady when we had walked for a couple minutes, How would you feel if I said you were going to stay here this time. I stared at her in terror. You mean Im actually dead this time? I asked timorously. Cause its not about me being afraid, really, Im thinking about my parents and my sisters and... I stopped, feeling ashamed. I guess that will never change though, will it? She patted my hand comfortingly. Very astute, its true that people are rarely done with their lives when its time to leave them. Less and less nowadays, Ive found. But anyways, thats not the point. You are not dead, I just wanted to know how youd react if you were. She gave me a reproving glance. Obviously not so well. I coughed uncomfortably. Well, I said apologetically, its kind of a given down there that you try not to die. Thats just the way we do things. She looked amused. Yes, I know. Thats sort of the point. Life may not be the be all and end all, but if you felt that way while you were down there Id have a lot more trouble controlling who stays and who goes. She shrugged. I squirmed. But can I ask you something? I ventured, How do you decide who gets to stay and who has to go, and why, and how? You know, the things you do down there

dont always seem-- I stressed the word seem--to make a whole lot of sense. I stopped myself, worried that Id crossed a line. But the woman only laughed. Have you ever looked at a painting under a microscope? she asked pleasantly, as if beginning a new topic. One stroke of a brush, or better yet, not even a whole stroke, just a few grains of dried paint. Its not so pretty, in a conventional sense, and it definitely doesnt seem to make a whole lot of sense. You need to take a few steps back and look at the picture, then you see the lines, the flow, the form. You see where its going. That, she gestured grandly down the mountain at the panorama below, is what I see. The big picture. The painting. I see your brushstrokes too, and I pay great attention to detail, but in the end I have to see them as one tiny part of the picture, and I have to decide for them to end when they sometimes want to go on, and go on when they sometimes want to end. Suddenly she looked sad. And then sometimes a stroke doesnt go the way it should, and I have to try to fix it. This last part she said under her breath, more to herself than to me. We walked in companionable silence for a few more minutes. I was pondering something, but I didnt dare ask. But she noticed that I wanted to speak, so she smiled at me encouragingly. You can ask me anything you want, you know. I wont promise that youll like the way Ill answer, but Ill never get mad at you for asking. So I spoke. I was just wondering, how do we know if were painting our strokes right? Youre not there beside us saying, go here, go there, do this, do that. Youre not there like you are here, telling me I can ask anything I like. So how can you blame us when we make little mistakes? A tiny note of accusation had crept into my voice. She drew herself very straight, and looked down at me imperiously. It struck me suddenly how extraordinarily tall she was, and I felt cowed by her presence. You think I blame you for things you dont know? You think I set false road signs to misdirect your steps, then pounce laughing when you fall into my trap? You think I dont forgive and forgive and forgive while you shield your eyes from seeing anything real and block your ears from hearing anything true? You think Im not down there every split-second, screaming in desperation at the top of my voice at every single one of you, trying to get your attention and save you from yourselves? You know how many times you, yes you yourself, have looked straight at me, and purposely turned the other way? People were born with a sense of right and wrong, which they called a conscience. But they claimed it was too vague, too easily swayed. So I gave them rules. Laws. No room for interpretation. They complained the guidelines were too strict, that the standard I had set was impossible to reach. So I sent backup. Someone who could catch them when they fell, who could fill in the gaps in their integrity, who could take the blows when their deeds came back to haunt them. They hated that most of all. At best they abuse it, at worst they ignore it. And they go on complaining that they dont know what is right, that I expect too much. That they cant find me, when Im the ground under their feet, the air that they breath, the food that feeds them and the fire that warms them. I was taken aback by this outburst. She had begun outraged, furious at my unmerited accusation, but by the end there was a quiver to her voice, and I realized that this was a subject which genuinely pained her. Im so sorry, I said contritely, but the words seemed grossly inadequate. She

shrugged, and gave me a half-smile. Its okay. I know you have trouble seeing things the way I do. I shyly put my arm around her and gave her a squeeze. Thank you. I said. I didnt need to explain what for. A grim-faced man in a navy-blue suit appeared to meet us around the next bend. He held a sheaf of papers in his hand, which he gave to the woman to examine as he said, Im so sorry madame, Im afraid its time. She gave him a scorching glare and looked like she was about to argue, but then she sighed and said, I guess youre right. Fine. She turned to me, her dark eyes swimming with concern. Now, could you remember one thing? What you dont see can be so much more important than what you do see. And there is so much that you dont see, simply because you havent bothered to look. Im one of those things. Look for me, and youll find me. I promise. The man in the blue suit was glancing meaningfully at his watch, and the lady stepped back with an impatient sigh. Until next time, then, she said, and with that the man pushed me off the cliff. *** I hit the ground sooner than I expected, and the shock of pain that seared through my body took my breath away. When I opened my eyes, I saw my mother leaning over me, her face creased with worry. Mummy, I cried in relief. She promptly started to cry, and when she hugged me the dull ache from my bruises was momentarily amplified to a piercing stab. They told me you might not ever wake up, darling I was so afraid, she sobbed. I have to go and call your father and sisters. She ran out of the room, holding a kleenex to her streaming eyes. My three older sisters came shyly into the room, followed by my dad, who looked like he had been crying. He knelt carefully beside my bed and placed one finger carefully on my forehead. How are you baby? Its good to see you awake. You had us all very worried. I tried to laugh, and found it hurt in my chest, so I stopped abruptly. Well, Ive been better, thats for sure, I said, trying to sound flippant. Which is hard when your entire head is encased in a cast. How long have I been...asleep? I asked cautiously. My mother my mother started to sob again, and my oldest sister, Francis, took her in her arms. Its been about a week, said Joanne, the second youngest. Mum and Dad came as soon as they could. We arrived two days ago, when you came out of your second surgery, chimed in Melissa. I nearly swooned. My...er...second surgery? Francis shot Melissa a shattering glare. Sweetie, lets not get into that now. The important thing is that youre awake now, and were all so happy to be here with you. Thats when it sunk in. Wait, I said, narrowing my eyes, why did you all fly out here? Francy, where are Ben and Jeremy? Mel, how did you leave work? Jo, arent you missing classes? Is it really that bad? I started to cry, and mum rushed over to my side and began dabbing at my tears. In the end it was Francy who explained, rather unwillingly, that I had suffered severe injuries to my head and vital organs, and that it was likely that I would be needing further surgical treatment. Truthfully, I zoned out after the first bit. I couldnt bear to here my existance whittled

down to a few broken parts. But what I did understand painfully well was that the three fates were sliding their golden scissors along the thread of my life, debating whether to snip or not to snip. When youre twenty-two years old, and have been healthy your entire life, you dont believe in death. I suddenly did. I wish I could say it changed me, that there was something that I was compelled to do or say that I had never had the courage to do or say before. But sadly it wasnt like that. First of all, even if I had wanted to do something, there wasnt much on the menu. My doings were limited to the hospital, so my world shrank smaller than ever. My parents and sisters were religiously faithful in their visits, and their stories became my world. My parents still lived in Vancouver, where we had grown up. Francis lived in Seattle with her husband and my three-year-old nephew. Melissa lived in Los Angeles, where she cultivated a high-paying job making movie trailers and an apparently very glamourous lifestyle. Joanne lived in Belgium, where she was working on her PHD in ___. And me I was going to school in Ottawa. It wasnt easy for my family to be there, but they were. They took turns.

To be continued...