The Promise

The Promise

         My eyes sprung open, feeling disoriented and dazed, I lay in bed staring into darkness. Initially, I thought my abrupt awakening was due to a terrible nightmare, but I had no recollection of any dreams at all, and just before I could muster up any other logical reason, I suddenly felt “It”.  What must have been silently simmering within me was now boiling over.  A disturbing array of emotions overflowed my senses; fear, horror, grief, sorrow, and anger all mixed together in one big melting pot of emotional fondue.  The downpour of emotion triggered my internal security system, sounding out an alarm throughout every cell of my body.  A cold chill ran up my spine causing my body to quiver.  Something was wrong.  I tried to think back to what my grandmother had told me about my “sixth sense”. 
 
         My grandmother Sena Frances Lowe, part Cherokee Indian and part French, was raised in the beliefs of her Indian ancestors and passed this knowledge on to me like passing a baton.  She taught me about our physical and spiritual connection to the elements: air, fire, water, earth and spirit.  She once told me that what people call our “sixth sense” is really just our spirit, the inner voice that speaks to us all and often alerts us to danger.  And laying here in bed at this very moment, my spirit was warning me that all was not well.
 
         I scanned through my pitch black bed room searching for any sign of a disturbance.  Darkness, along with my sleep deprived eyes made it nearly impossible for me to see, the only trace of light was from the orange glow of my digital clock that read 2:27 am.  I forced my eyes to focus, scanning my room again and this time drawing my attention to the silhouettes of surrounding objects.  From the outlines I was able to make out my dresser, bookshelf, TV stand and the small beveled shapes of what I finally identified as books and shoes scattered around the floor, all the ordinary clutter of a typical teenager.  Everything seemed to be just the way I had left it before going to bed, and I found a tidbit of relief in not actually spotting any boogie men with red glowing eyes hiding out in the corner of my room. 
 
         Yet this did nothing to appease my spirit.  It still proclaimed that something was amiss.  I closed my eyes and listened for any noise that may have startled me from my dreamless sleep, but strangely there was nothing.  The house was unusually quiet, the normal creaking sounds that came from my grandmother’s old Victorian home settling in for the night was not present, and incredibly there was no commotion at all from the corner bar that often sent its patrons shouting drunken slurs as they staggered down the road past my window. 
 
         As I looked to my left at the open window, something else caught my attention, it was early October, a time when crickets normally sang their farewell song to summer and welcomed in the fall season with bursts of musical chirps that played throughout the night.  But tonight was different; the breeze that blew my curtains did not carry in the nighttime melody.  Instead it filled my room with an unnatural silence that made my ears ring with terror.  Suddenly I had the urge to jump out of bed screaming as I ran down stairs leaping right into the safety of my grandmother’s arms, but not even my strong desire to flee was enough to make me move.  I was too petrified, frightened by this unknown lurking presence, I continued to lay in bed praying that I would fall back to sleep where I could escape from the unknown.
 
         I closed my eyes tight attempting to convince myself that it was just my imagination, but I could not kick the eeriness that slithered about my feet.  It moved slowly while it coiled around my legs, steadily working its way up until it had completely wrapped around my entire body like a Burmese python.  I desperately wanted to cry out, but I couldn’t breathe.  This invisible force squeezed tighter and tighter contracting its shadowy embrace to prevent my movement. 
 
         Panic set in, replacing the warmth of my blood with icy cold adrenaline and without warning a sharp pain radiated through my body like a bolt of lightning.  My heart pounded in my chest, echoing in my ears, the sound was like a galloping race horse struggling to reach the finish line.  My heart continued to pump faster and faster, forcefully hammering against the walls of my chest.  For a brief moment, I thought my heart was going to explode.  Then as suddenly as it happened, it quickly ended. 
 
         I inhaled deeply as I realized the emotions that had taken control of my body were now gone leaving no explanation for their visit.  I exhaled a sigh of relief; slowly my heart rate returned to its normal rhythm.  I laid in bed dripping wet with sweat, looking back over at the clock it read 2:57 am.  I was exhausted and I could not keep my eyes open; they literally felt like 50 pound weights, and I did not want to fight the sleep I so begged for just moments ago. 
 
         Allowing my eyes to once again close, I attempted to clear my head so I could drift off into the land of sleep.  But in spite of being totally exhausted, my mind was not ready to relinquish control, and it instantly slipped into overdrive.  With a flip of a switch my memories began playing out in my head like the previews of a movie.  I had the strange sensation I was sitting in a theater watching exclusive behind the scene interviews, except this was my life story and I did not need the inside scoop on a story that I wrote, produced, directed and starred in.  But now it was being replayed before my eyes and without my permission.  This sent a surge of anger flowing through my veins and I demanded to know what was going on, but my inner voice was silent, sending no reply.  Then without warning the scenes sped up, until they were an unrecognizable blur of color and light, flashing through my mind’s eye. 
 
         The anger that flowed through my body began mingling with feelings of confusion and helplessness.  I had never experienced anything like this and for a split second I thought maybe I was dreaming.  But I knew beyond a shadow of a doubt I was not asleep.  Even thou I was in bed with my eyes shut; my mind would not allow me to enter the realms of unconsciousness.  Then it dawned on me, my mind was scanning through my memories searching for a specific event, something that it wanted me to remember.
  
         I felt dizzy from watching the blurred images race through my head, and the remaining undigested food from dinner began to fizz in my stomach.  I knew if it did not stop soon I was going to throw up.  Just then the flashing images came to an abrupt stop and the search was finally over; my mind had found what it was looking for.  I stared at the frozen picture as it came into focus.  It was a familiar but distant memory, one from my childhood that I had filed away deep into the abyss of my subconscious.  Suddenly, my mind pressed play, and the still memory came to life before my eyes.  I watched the memory unfold, and my conscious mind slowly drifted back to that moment, forcing me to relive it.
 
         I was thirteen years old again walking with my grandmother down a long corridor.  The walls along the hallway were painted a bright white, no pictures or art work hung from them, only a few directional signs were posted in order to guide visitors to other areas in the hospital.  The overhead lightning shined an iridescent white that radiated down on the lustrous white floor tiles casting an illusion that the hallway was much bigger than what it actually was. 
 
         Although the hospital was bright, it was not at all cheery.  Instead it felt lifeless, a feeling that had obviously been absorbed into the faces of the hospital staff making their expressions as empty as the surrounding walls.  I watched as the doctors and nurses drifted from one room to the other without concern, walking past my grandmother and I as if we were invisible.  However, this did not seem to bother my grandmother; she strolled along only pausing ever so often at a few signs to make sure we were headed in the right direction. 
 
         During one of her stops I looked up at her while she read the sign, she seemed oblivious at the morbid appearance of this place, but I thought she must have at least been aware of the smell.  Upon entering the hospital it was the first thing I noticed and right away I was able to identify the strong odor. Growing up with my grandmother I had become accustomed to her use of Ammonia and Lysol during her daily cleaning ritual, and apparently the hospital shared in this ritual because the air was saturated with the smell. 
 
         Although the scent of the disinfectant was strong it was not abnormal, but what was buried underneath the pungent odor of chemicals was a stench that made my stomach queasy.  The aroma was bitter sweet but not in an agreeable way, it was nauseating and reminded me of decaying potatoes.  I quickly understood that the disinfectant was not only used to kill germs but to mask this disgusting odor.
 
         I followed my grandmother as she turned down another hall that looked exactly like the previous ones.  I wondered how much further we had to walk, doubting we would ever be able to find our way out, and as if she were reading my mind my grandmother looked down at me and spoke the reassuring words that we were almost there.  I smiled back at her, amazed by how she always seemed to know what I was thinking.  Confident in her reassurance I tried to shake off any uneasy feelings.  Just as we were about to continue our walk someone called out “Ms. Mary”.  My grandmother and I turned around.  Without any doubt I knew it had to be one of my grandmother’s friends because only her friends called her Ms. Mary.  Although her name was Sena she hated for people to call her by her given name because it always lead to questions about her nationality which she considered rude, so to avoid the topic she asked her friends to call her Mary and somehow that got turned into Ms. Mary.  I never understood why she just did not use her middle name Frances, but I guess she had her reasons.
 
         We stood in the middle of the hallway waiting for the man as he rushed over.  He was grinning from ear to ear and it was quite obvious he was extremely happy to see my grandmother.  I really could not blame the man for being filled with such fervor, even in her 60s my grandmother was a looker.  Her Indian heritage blessed her with prominent cheek bones, full lips and flawless skin, bearing a strong resemblance to a youthful Elizabeth Taylor with her short jet black, pin curled hair and voluptuous curves.  But her eyes were her most alluring feature, changing color from hazel, green to gray and at times a mixture of all three.  And as if that was not enough, her eyes were also interlaced with colors of amber and gold that burst out from the center of her eyes like rays from the sun.  They were unearthly and sometimes sent chills down my back.  But the man standing before her did not seem to be having any trouble maintaining eye contact.
 
         My grandmother introduced me to the man and he shook my hand saying his name was Rex.  I thought to myself…what kind of name is Rex?  But I must admit he was very polite and he even told me what a pretty girl I was before he focused his attention solely on my grandma.  I studied him with curious eyes, he was a few years older than my grandmother, and he had long white shoulder length hair, mustache, beard, and he spoke with a deep raspy voice, but there was something familiar about him that I could not put my finger on. 
 
         I stood there for a couple of minutes listening to them as they conversed when all of a sudden it hit me, the man reminded me of Santa Claus.  And he even had a big round belly that jiggled every time he laughed.  My mind immediately visualized him in a red Santa suite standing outside of Kmart ringing a bell saying “ho ho ho…Merry Christmas”.  I let out a silent chuckle under my breath, just then my grandmother looked back at me with one eyebrow raised, displaying a knowingly smile before returning to her conversation.
 
         Her smile wiped away all the amusement I found in her friend.  I really hated it when she did that.  I turned around to hide my embarrassment hoping she did not know exactly what I thinking.  I decided to walk a little ways down the hall, putting enough distance between us so I would not be privy to their conversation.  While walking, I noticed most of the doors along the hallway were closed, but the few that were left open offered a glimpse into what was hidden behind the others.
 
         I stopped in front of one of the open doors and peered in.  An elderly lady was stretched out in the hospital bed and covered with layers of blankets.  Her eyes were closed and her arms lay folded cross her stomach with an IV protruding from her right hand.  She had long salt-and-pepper hair that hung down past her shoulders and it appeared to have been recently groomed.  Her skin was pale and thin like parchment paper, but not even age could steal her timeless beauty.  It was obvious she was very sick, and the bones protruding from under her skin made her look fragile. But the expression on her face was immersed with peace and tranquility that curved her lips into a soft smile.  The scene was so surreal, if I had not seen her chest moving I would have thought she was dead and as I continued to stare I was certain that death was not far away. 
 
         I stood in the doorway completely mesmerized, I could not take my eyes off of her and then I did the unthinkable, I walked into her room.  I did not have a clue as to who this lady was but I felt compelled to visit her.  As I reached the side of her bed I got a whiff of that dreadful odor.  That bitter sweet stench immediately filled my nostrils and my stomach began to churn.  The aroma was much stronger than it was in the hallway.  I wondered where the odor was coming from but before I could consider the source of that awful smell I saw something move out the corner of my eye.  Startled, my eyes shot over to the right side of her bed where a young man was standing in the corner of the room.  I was completely mortified and by the way the young man stared back at me I could see the feeling was mutual. 
 
         I stood there motionless like a deer caught in head lights.  My inner voice began lecturing me, telling me how stupid I was for not seeing him standing there before I barged in.  I argued back insisting he was not there before, yet I could not explain why he was standing across the room staring at me.  I finally conceded, realizing that my attention had been so focused on the lady I might as well have been wearing blinders because I never saw anyone else in the room except her.  A sudden surge of guilt rushed through me, I felt horrible for invading this woman’s room and disturbing her visitor.  Just as I turned around to make a break for the door, I heard the young man speak.
 
         “She’s not dead…she’s just sleeping.”  I stopped.  I could not take another step.  His words were like silk spinning from his lips, and I could feel their texture as they blew past me, all so smooth and creamy with a slight accent that I did not recognize. I had never heard a voice that was filled with so much passion.  It caused my body to quiver, making the tiny little hairs along my arms to stand up.  Right then I knew I was not going to leave.
 
         I glanced back at him, this time really looking at him.  He was young, maybe eighteen or nineteen years old and judging by his age I assumed this was the woman’s grandson.  I turned back to face him, watching as he stepped out from the dark corner and moved closer to the bed.  There was something about the way he moved that made me feel inferior.  He was tall, but graceful, and his body structure was athletic exuding confidence, power and strength.  His skin was the complete opposite of the old woman’s; it was smooth and golden brown like he spent a lot of time in the sun.  But his hair and eyes were much darker, almost black.  There was only one word that could really describe him and it echoed inside my head, “Perfect”.
 
         I’m not sure how long I had been staring at him but from the smirk on his face I guessed it was too long.  I turned my head toward the window as I felt my blood rush to my cheeks.  Here he was visiting his sick grandmother, and I was making googly eyes at him like some love sick puppy.  I quickly responded. “I am so sorry, I shouldn’t have intruded…she just looked so peaceful, but I had no right…” 
 
         “Don’t worry…you’re not disturbing her.”  The young man said interrupting my guilty plea.  “She doesn’t get many visitors, and I know if she were awake she would appreciate your company.”  I felt relieved that he was not angry by my flagrant disregard for his grandmother’s privacy.  My voice shook as I spoke.  “Will she be going home soon?”
 
         There was a brief moment of silence while he appeared to be thinking and finally he said.  “No, not the home you’re thinking of.  She has cancer and doesn’t have much time left.”
 
         I was stunned, not to find out his grandmother was dying because I had already sensed that, but I was not sure how to respond.  “Oh, um…I’m sorry about your grandmother, I hope she is not in much pain.”  I took a few steps forward moving closer to the woman’s bedside.  I could feel the young man’s eyes follow me.  I glanced over at him quickly before looking back at the woman.  The expression on his face was puzzling and I could sense his hesitation. 
 
         Then in a soft voice he replied. “Um…my grandmother, well no the worst of it is over and she has finally found peace, the morphine keeps her comfortable and makes her sleep.”  He reached down and stroked her hair and continued to talk.  “She’s lived a long life, but no one is meant to stay here forever…now it is time for her to go home.”  As he finished speaking he looked up and our eyes met.  Staring into his eyes I remembered what my grandmother once said about how the eyes are the windows of the soul.  Under the circumstances I expected his eyes to show some kind of grief or sadness.  Instead they were filled with a deep longing that sparked my curiosity, making me want to look deeper, exploring the very core of his soul.  As I attempted to uncover the secrets hidden behind his dark eyes I realized he was also doing some searching of his own.  Instantly I jerked my eyes away to avoid his probing.  His interest caught me by surprise.  I never expected him to be as curious about me as I was about him. 
 
         I felt awkward and quickly shifted back into our conversation.  “I’ve never really thought much about death or where we go when we die.”  I lied, I thought about death often.  I lived with my grandmother and every year I grew older so did she.  I often worried about what would happen to me if she were to die, who would take care of me? Of course I had my godfather, but he was also old and was also the reason for me being at the hospital.    I had no one else if something happened to either of them and this was upsetting. 
 
         However, unlike most children, I was not scared of death or the process of dying; instead what terrified me was the unknown, not knowing what happens to the soul after it leaves the body.  I tilted my head toward the floor trying to hide the tears that were filling my eyes and took a deep breath before I spoke.  “I guess it would be nice to know there is something more after death.”  Slowly I lifted my eyes while keeping my head tilted down.  The young man just looked at me and smiled as he said. “My name is Michael.” 
 
         I have never been a shy person but he caught me off guard, I was not expecting any introductions and it took a few seconds for me to reply.  “I’m Apryl.” I said lifting my head.
 
         “So…are you here with your parents?”  I guess he was curious or just maybe concerned that I was lost.  But unfortunately I did not think before I spoke.  “My parents, um…no, I live with my grandmother.”  And as the words left my mouth I realized the conversation had suddenly taken an uncomfortable turn, at least for me.  I should have simply told him I was here with my grandmother, but with the slip of my tongue I acknowledge that I lived with her.  Normally I was very careful in avoiding such a personal disclosure, but the protective shield I hide behind was not as strong today as it was yesterday and this made feel vulnerable. 
 
         I rambled on hoping to shift the focus.  “I’m here with her…we were on our way to visit my godfather when she ran into an old friend.”
         “I see.” Those two words did not mean much but the way he said them let me know he had indeed took interest in my living arrangements, and in his eyes I could see his next words forming, words that would require me to open up to a complete stranger. “If you don’t mind me asking, why do you live with your grandmother?” His lips drew together with a slight curve, but his eyes displayed a huge smile. 
 
         However, my eyes did not return a smile.  I hated being right, but more so I hated having to explain why I was not living with my parents like ordinary children do.  I learned early on, once people found out why I lived with my grandmother they treated me differently, like some charity case.  Bombarding me with remarks like “You poor thing” or “That is so awful”, but worst of all were the unspoken words that filled their eyes, casting judgment that I was somehow to blame.  And here I am now face to face with a stranger who is inquiring about my family history.  I wanted to lie to Michael, but I felt like some how he would know, so I made the decision to share with him something I rarely shared with anyone, not even my close friends.
 
         “Well, my father died before I was born and my mother is…is…well I don’t know, she took it pretty hard and had to be institutionalized in a mental hospital right after my birth.  So I’ve lived with my grandmother since I was five days old.”  I looked at the wall while I spoke and when I finished I slowly looked over at him. His expression was not that of sympathy or pity, but rather understanding and for this I was thankful.  I gave him a huge smile in return.  But my smile was short lived. 
 
         Just then my grandmother came barreling through the door.  “Oh my God!  I have been looking everywhere for you.  I looked around and you were gone, you scared me half to death, I thought someone abducted you.”  Her voice was loud and high pitched when she first entered the room, but immediately lowered to a mere whisper when she glanced over at the woman who was sleeping peacefully. 
 
         I turned to face her.  “Ma, who would take me? I’m thirteen not three…”  Before I could finish protesting my grandma interjected and her voice began to raise another octave. “That is beside the point young lady.  Don’t ever wander off without telling me where you are going.  I am too old to be scared like that.”  I suddenly realized she was right.  “I’m sorry.  I didn’t mean to scare you.  I just…” 
 
         “Of course I’m right child now come on and get out of this ladies room.  What on earth are you doing in here anyway?”  She did not wait for an explanation, in one quick step she moved behind me placing her hands on my shoulders and continued on with her lecture.  “You know it’s not nice to barge in on someone, especially when they are sleeping.”  I attempted to turn around and explain, but my shoulders where being guided straight head toward the door, she was literally pushing me out the room, and by that time I was too embarrassed to resist or even to say goodbye to Michael, so I exited the room willingly.
 
         I felt like a small child as my grandmother held my hand practically dragging me down the hall, away from the old lady and her mysterious grandson.  But I did not dare complain as she was still visibly shaken by my little disappearing act, nor did I bother telling her about the old lady or Michael.  I made a mental note that I would share that with her later, once she had calmed down. 
 
         We turned down another hallway walking past a few rooms before my grandmother stopped.  We were standing in front of a door, and on the outside of the door was a slip of white paper that had my godfathers name written on it, my grandmother breathed a sigh of relief.  “Now remember what I told you, he may not look like himself right now and he will probably have some IVs stuck to him, but it’s going to be alright, the doctor says he will make a full recovery.”  She looked into my eyes waiting for a response.  I nodded my head assuring her that I understood, and held my breath as my grandmother open the room door and we walked in.
 
         My godfather was lying in bed watching TV while semi sleeping.  He looked weak; he was not the strong man I was accustomed to racing up and down the swimming pool or throwing Frisbees with around the park.  He looked pale like all the blood had been drained from his body and for the first time ever I saw him as a sick, frail old man.  My grandmother tried to prepare me for what I would see, but nothing she had told me had really prepared me for this.  I felt my grandmother squeeze my hand, I looked up at her and she smiled at me warmly as her eyes repeated her speech from the hallway.    I smiled back and ran over to my godfathers bed.
 
         His face light up like the morning sun shining across the horizon and I knew he was just as excited to see me as I was him.  I did not realize until this very moment how much I missed him.  I rushed over to him, and threw my arms around his neck forgetting about all the wires and tubes that were hooked up to his body.  But it did not seem to bother him because his arms were wrapped around me, and he was kissing the top of my head while telling me how much he loved me.  I could hear my grandmother instructing me to be careful and insisting that I not squeeze him so hard.  I completely ignored her.
 
         “Oh I’ve missed you so much Poppi and I’ve been so worried.”
 
         “I know you have sweet heart, I’ve missed you too.”  His voice was shaky and hoarse.  I released my grip from around his neck and stood up to get a good look at him.  His blue eyes sparkled under the florescent lights and the warmth of love that always filled them was still there.  Staring into his eyes made me remember the first time we met.  For a long time my grandmother was my mother and father, up until I was four years old when a family friend named Doc Eugene Maddox stopped by for a visit.  As soon I my grandmother introduced him to me, I ran over and jumped in his lap.  I felt like I had known him my entire life.  He once told me that that was all it took for me to wrap him around my little finger.  And at that moment he knew he had to be a part of my life, so he became my godfather. 
 
         However, I never thought of him as my godfather, in my eyes he was the father I lost before I was born, he was my Poppi.  And he treated me like I was the daughter he never had, and in fact he had no biological children of his own, so we gladly filled our empty spaces with each other. 
 
         “You okay sweet heart?”  He said verbally expressing the concern on his face.  I did not realized how I must have looked standing there staring at him deep in thought.
 
         “Oh…yea I’m fine…I’m just so happy that you’re okay.”  I felt tears running down my cheeks, it was the first time I had cried since I found out he had a heart attack.  My grandmother walked over to us and leaned on the bed.  “Well Doc, looks like you are getting your strength back.  Just don’t overexert yourself.”  She looked over at me as she emphasized the word “overexert”.
 
         “I’ve done told you I’m fine.  Now stop worrying so much.”  He said while patting her hand that was pressed against his bed.  “Okay then…I think I will go down stairs to the coffee shop and grab a cup of hot java.  Would yall like anything?”  We both said no and thank you.  I gave her a little smirk as she walked out the door.  I knew she had already reached her three cup limit on coffee earlier this morning, so I figured this was just her way of giving Poppi and I a chance to talk in private.    And that was fine with me because these were the moments I enjoyed most, aside from all the trips and shopping sprees, the best times I had with him where spent talking.
 
         Most of our conversations were about science, history, politics, conspiracy theories, and unsolved mysteries.  No matter how far out in left field my opinions or beliefs traveled, he never dismissed them.  He gave me the freedom to grow, explore and dream.  I liked the way he challenged my thinking and allowed me to vocalize my point of view. He was always forthcoming and never talked to me like a child.
 
         When my grandmother shut the door behind her, he smiled and patted the bed motioning for me to sit down.  “I’m sorry that I almost left you.” 
 
         His words cut through me like a knife.  When I found out he had a heart attack I only thought about how sick he must be, but I never considered once that he was close to dying.  “What do you mean you almost left me?”  My voice trembled as I fought back more tears. 
 
         “I mean I almost died…well really I did die.”  I jumped up from the bed and stood there staring at him.  My brain was trying to comprehend what he was saying, but my mind was in shock, and I kept repeating his words in my head over and over again, until finally I was sure of what he had said.  I shook my head in disbelief and began speaking in a condescending tone.  “I don’t understand…what do you mean you died?  You’re sitting here talking to me.” 
 
         Poppi just laughed at my response, but I was not amused.  “It’s true…when I had a heart attack I died, but the paramedics were able to bring me back again.”  He paused, his eyes softened and then he said, “Well something brought me back.”  I must have looked like I was going to pass out because he instructed me to sit down in the chair beside his bed.  I did not argue because I could feel my legs begin to wobble. 
 
         Once I was seated he asked me if I remembered one of our many controversial discussions regarding life after death.  I sat there waiting for my mind to shuffle through our many conversations and then I recalled our discussion.  “Yes…I remember.”  The words fell slowly from my lips.
 
         He nodded his head and smile. “Well that is what I experienced when my heart stopped beating.”  Oh my God, is what I heard my inner voice scream. I could not believe what he was saying, not that I thought he was lying because I knew he would never lie to me, but it was just mind-blowing.  When I had fully digested what he said, I became excited and was suddenly full of questions like a reporter who had stumbled across the story of a lifetime, eagerly awaiting the details. 
 
         My godfather was equally thrilled that he was able to give me a firsthand account of an experience that most people never live to tell.  He said it all began when he was sitting in his living room listening to his next door neighbor Ms. Nancy vent about the noisy tenant above them on the fourth floor.  He said she was trying to convince him to sign a petition that she could present to the landlord.  He felt like she was being trivial, but he did not dare tell her that, instead he allowed her to continue to vocalize her frustration.  While Ms. Nancy carried on, he said he started feeling light headed.  At first he thought he was just sick of hearing her complain, but then he felt sweat running down his forehead and neck.  He knew then that something was wrong, but before he could utter a word, his arm suddenly went numb and a sharp pain shot through his body like a bolt of lightning.  Then his heart began to forcefully pound against his chest, everything was spinning and he realized he could not breathe.  He grabbed the front of his shirt and fell off the couch onto the living room floor.
 
         He let out a chuckle as he recalled what happened next. 
 
         Ms. Nancy jumped up from the other side of the couch and stood over him screaming “What’s wrong Doc? Tell me what’s wrong…what’s happening?  Are you okay? What’s wrong?”  Doc chuckled again as he repeated her words and described the terrifying look that was drenched upon her face.  I could not help but to laugh with him because he made it sound so comical.  After we calmed our laughter he continued on with his story.
 
         He said that the entire time Ms. Nancy was asking him what was wrong; he was thinking that he was surely going to die, because she was an idiot.  He proclaimed that a blind man could have seen he was having a heart attack.  Finally, he saw Ms. Nancy run over to the phone.  She was talking to someone and even thou her lips were moving he could not hear her.  And then he realized he could not hear any outside noise, only the internal cries from his dying heart.  He laid on the floor staring at the ceiling light, concentrating on the rhythm of his heart and the pain that now flowed from it.  He knew he was going to die and this made him angry, but not only angry, he was sad.  The ceiling light that held his attention seem to be getting smaller, and its brilliant glow dimmed so low that it looked like a far away star.  He compared it to being inside a tunnel watching the light move farther and farther away, until he was left in total darkness.
    
         When he regained consciousness, he was not sure how much time had passed.  He saw the paramedics were kneeling over him administering CPR.  But then he realized there was something wrong with the scene.  He was not observing them by looking up; instead he was looking down at the paramedics who were working vigorously to revive him.  He was floating above, looking down, watching one paramedic do chest compressions while the other held a mask over his face.  He said it was at that moment he realized that he was dead and his soul was no longer inside his body.  The feeling was bizarre, but he was not afraid, and the love and energy that surrounded him made him forget about the horrible scene below.  Then unexpectedly his spirit began rising through the rafters of the ceiling and he was encircled in a brilliant white light and he knew this was the crossing point into heaven.  But instead of being overjoyed, he felt a rush of sadness because he had not been able to tell me good bye, and he worried about how I would be affected by his death.  At that moment he realized he could not leave me.
 
         Then without warning he felt like he was being sucked into a vacuum cleaner, everything around him was distorted and blurred before falling back into darkness.  The next thing he remembered was waking up in the hospital bed two days later with a doctor standing over him, informing him that he had suffered a heart attack, and had been clinically dead for fifteen minutes.  The doctor then informed him that he had undergone emergency open heart surgery, but if it had not been for the persistent efforts of the paramedics he would not have survived.
 
         By the time my godfather finished his story I was in tears again.  It was almost like déjà vu; a few minutes ago I shared a similar conversation with a perfect stranger, discussing life and death, and now my godfather was confirming that the soul does move on after the body dies.  Lost in thought I barely noticed when my godfather took my hand into his, I looked over at him when I heard him whisper everything was fine.  And I knew it was true, everything was fine, but I wondered about where the light would have taken him if he had not been allowed to come back. 
 
         Poppi asked me what I was thinking about.  I hesitated, but then I asked him to make me a promise.  “If you should ever die and not be able to come back again physically, will you come back as a spirit and let me know what is beyond the light?”  Poppi smiled at me and nodded his head.  “I promise if there is any possible way I can come back…I will…and I will tell you.”  He paused taking a long breath.  “I promise you I will come to you.”  A huge smile swept across my face.  He made me a promise and he had never broken a promise to me, so I was certain that if he could come, he would.  I threw my arms around his neck and told him I loved him.  He whispered in my ear.  “I love you more.”  I stood up, ready to debate who loved who the most and that was when everything in the room began to change. 
 
         At first everything seemed normal, but now my whole world was literally crumbling before my eyes, and what I thought was real was nothing more than a memory. I saw streaks of color and tiny particles of dust floating in the air.  I turned my head back toward my godfather and gasped.  It was like looking at an old faded photo, one that had been smudged, distorting the image.  I stood there in horror.  The image of him laying in bed began quickly fading away.  I called out to him, but my voice echoed through a now empty room, he was gone.
 
         I was left standing in a white empty room.  Although, I could see no walls, ceiling, or floor, I still felt like they were there, just not visible.  I heard Poppi call my name, but when I turned around I did not see him.  Instead I saw the silhouette of a figure standing in front of me.  The silhouette was a glowing bright light, so bright that it made my eyes squint.  The form that stood in front of me did not look like my godfather, there were no facial features at all, but somehow I knew it was him.  I asked him why he looked different.  He told me that this was his spirit form.  Without saying another word I knew he had died.  And as if he could hear my thoughts he then acknowledged to me that he had indeed died a physical death. 
 
         Before shock could set in, my godfather reminded me that he had made me a promise several years ago, and that is why he came.  He wanted to let me know that he had crossed over to the other side.  I asked him what it is like there on the other side.  He said it is more than I could ever dream of and so much more than any words could ever describe.  The realization of what he said made me feel sad, but I could not cry.  I was disappointed that he was not able to give me a detailed description, but I guess if it was beyond words, than it had to be beyond magnificent.
 
         My godfather reached down and touched my hand and I felt joy, love and power pour into my body.  He told me he had to go, but he reminded me that he was not really dead because no one really dies.  He told me that when I woke up not to be sad because he was in a better place and that we would see each other again.  I watched him drift away slowly taking all the light with him.  I started to cry.  Then I heard my name.
 
         “April!!”  I jumped straight up in bed.  My heart was racing and I was shaking.  I looked over at the clock and it read 3:25am.  I grabbed my chest and tried to slow my breathing.  “It was only a dream.”  I said exhaling slowly.  But then I heard someone scream my name again.  I jumped up and opened my bedroom door, and I realized it was my grandmother down stairs calling out to me.  I ran down the stairs and when I reached the bottom she was in the living room on the phone.  She looked over at me with tears in her eyes and I knew.  She did not have to say a word to me because I knew she had just found out my godfather had passed away.
 
         When she hung up the phone she confirmed that what I thought was a dream was actually a promise.  I stood there in shock as my grandmother informed me of the details; she said my godfather went to the hospital at 2:00 am because he was having chest pains.  While the doctors were running test he went into cardiac arrest at 2:27am and at 2:57am he was pronounced dead.  The doctor said they did all they could to try and save him, but they were not able to bring him back.  When my grandmother finished talking all I could do was smile while tears ran down my face.  I knew he was in a better place and I knew this because he had just told me.  And I felt blessed that he was able to keep his promise.