The Remembering
It’s beginning, I thought, waking from my long slumber. Someone’s Remembering again.
Of course I hadn’t really been sleeping. Dead people don’t sleep. Well, at least I know I don’t. I can’t speak
for the others.
I wonder how long it will last this time. Sometimes it’s fleeting – just a momentary Remembrance. Other times
it lasts longer. Hours even. I like those the best. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like the Nothingness is bad. It’s
just... well... nothingness. Even dead people like an occasional change of pace.
Me? Oh, I haven’t been dead that long. Fifty years or so, I figure. Stack that up against Eternity and you’ll
see what a rookie I am. There are all kinds of dead people with far more experience than I have. Of course I
can’t see them and I can’t communicate with them so we can’t share any war stories. I just know they’re
there, and it seems logical to assume our experiences in death would be similar. Sometimes I wish I could
talk to them and find out what’s likely to happen to me ten, fifty, or one hundred years down the road when
I’m completely forgotten. I’m sure it will be different then. I just don’t know exactly how. But for now – right
now – someone’s Remembering me. And for now, that’s enough.
This time it’s my granddaughter April who’s summoned me. My God, she’s an old woman now. She’s
packing things away in boxes. Must be moving, I guess. She’s looking at a picture of us taken shortly before
I died. The old woman in the picture might have been my wife. I don’t remember her at all. She might be
buried right next to me, only a few feet away, but it doesn’t make any difference. I have no awareness of
her. Funny, isn’t it?
I wish I could remember April’s parents, but I can’t. I can’t remember any of my children; any of my other
grandchildren, or even if I had others. Maybe they’re all dead, too. Or maybe they’re alive, but just never
think of me. See, that’s the great Cosmic Joke. The living can Remember the dead whenever they chose,
but the dead can only remember those who are Remembering them. At least that’s what I figure. I know it’s
true for me. I know I had parents and maybe even brothers and sisters, but I couldn’t remember them if my
life depended on it – so to speak.
Actually, saying that I “Remember” those who have called me back is not exactly accurate. They
Remember, of course. But it’s more like I’m brought back to be a part of someone else’s Remembrance. For
however long or short a time that it lasts, I’m allowed to participate in their memories and share their
thoughts. And when they’re done Remembering, I go back to reposing. ‘Reposing’ – what a dumb-ass word.
April’s son Brandon (my great-grandson that I never knew) has apparently convinced her to move into a
senior citizen’s apartment community. That’s the last thing she wants to do. She’s living in the same place
where she’s been for over thirty years. There’s a flower garden she still tends that’s the envy of the
neighborhood. She has friends there – young and old. Even the neighborhood kids like her and not only
because she always has fresh-baked cookies on hand. She’s just a genuinely sweet lady with a perpetual
smile, and everyone loves her. But Brandon knows best, he says. Her heart isn’t what it used to be, he tells
her. Why, any day now she might keel over with a heart attack or stroke, he says. And then what would she
do if she were still living alone?
Between you and me, I think Brandon is an ass.
But of course she does look old now, and so very, very tired. Come to think of it, her skin is kind of
translucent and her color isn’t too good either. Her hands are shaky and her breathing sounds kind of
labored. Maybe she should go sit down for a while.
Oh no. She’s thinking about dying now – about how she’d be better off if she could join her late husband.
Hell. He’s probably there with her right now. She just doesn’t know it. She’s thinking that maybe it’s time –
that maybe she won’t be such a burden if she just passes away quietly. I wish I could just talk to her, tell it
like it is.
My God, she’s fallen down! She’s clutching at her chest and feeling sharp, throbbing pains. What’s
happening?
She’s moaning. Oh. I don’t like the way her eyes look. She’s gasping for air now – lips blue.
Please, someone. Help her.
Grandpa?
What... who?
Grandpa, is that you? It’s me. April. I think I’m dying. Are you here to show me the way?
You can see me? You know I’m here?
Oh yes, Grandpa. I’m so glad you came. It’s my time, isn’t it?
Oh my God. No, April. No. Don’t die now. It can’t be your time yet. Once you’re gone no one will Remember
me.
I... I don’t understand.
Oh, April, but you will. You will. When you die you...
April?
April?
Of course I hadn’t really been sleeping. Dead people don’t sleep. Well, at least I know I don’t. I can’t speak
for the others.
I wonder how long it will last this time. Sometimes it’s fleeting – just a momentary Remembrance. Other times
it lasts longer. Hours even. I like those the best. Don’t get me wrong. It’s not like the Nothingness is bad. It’s
just... well... nothingness. Even dead people like an occasional change of pace.
Me? Oh, I haven’t been dead that long. Fifty years or so, I figure. Stack that up against Eternity and you’ll
see what a rookie I am. There are all kinds of dead people with far more experience than I have. Of course I
can’t see them and I can’t communicate with them so we can’t share any war stories. I just know they’re
there, and it seems logical to assume our experiences in death would be similar. Sometimes I wish I could
talk to them and find out what’s likely to happen to me ten, fifty, or one hundred years down the road when
I’m completely forgotten. I’m sure it will be different then. I just don’t know exactly how. But for now – right
now – someone’s Remembering me. And for now, that’s enough.
This time it’s my granddaughter April who’s summoned me. My God, she’s an old woman now. She’s
packing things away in boxes. Must be moving, I guess. She’s looking at a picture of us taken shortly before
I died. The old woman in the picture might have been my wife. I don’t remember her at all. She might be
buried right next to me, only a few feet away, but it doesn’t make any difference. I have no awareness of
her. Funny, isn’t it?
I wish I could remember April’s parents, but I can’t. I can’t remember any of my children; any of my other
grandchildren, or even if I had others. Maybe they’re all dead, too. Or maybe they’re alive, but just never
think of me. See, that’s the great Cosmic Joke. The living can Remember the dead whenever they chose,
but the dead can only remember those who are Remembering them. At least that’s what I figure. I know it’s
true for me. I know I had parents and maybe even brothers and sisters, but I couldn’t remember them if my
life depended on it – so to speak.
Actually, saying that I “Remember” those who have called me back is not exactly accurate. They
Remember, of course. But it’s more like I’m brought back to be a part of someone else’s Remembrance. For
however long or short a time that it lasts, I’m allowed to participate in their memories and share their
thoughts. And when they’re done Remembering, I go back to reposing. ‘Reposing’ – what a dumb-ass word.
April’s son Brandon (my great-grandson that I never knew) has apparently convinced her to move into a
senior citizen’s apartment community. That’s the last thing she wants to do. She’s living in the same place
where she’s been for over thirty years. There’s a flower garden she still tends that’s the envy of the
neighborhood. She has friends there – young and old. Even the neighborhood kids like her and not only
because she always has fresh-baked cookies on hand. She’s just a genuinely sweet lady with a perpetual
smile, and everyone loves her. But Brandon knows best, he says. Her heart isn’t what it used to be, he tells
her. Why, any day now she might keel over with a heart attack or stroke, he says. And then what would she
do if she were still living alone?
Between you and me, I think Brandon is an ass.
But of course she does look old now, and so very, very tired. Come to think of it, her skin is kind of
translucent and her color isn’t too good either. Her hands are shaky and her breathing sounds kind of
labored. Maybe she should go sit down for a while.
Oh no. She’s thinking about dying now – about how she’d be better off if she could join her late husband.
Hell. He’s probably there with her right now. She just doesn’t know it. She’s thinking that maybe it’s time –
that maybe she won’t be such a burden if she just passes away quietly. I wish I could just talk to her, tell it
like it is.
My God, she’s fallen down! She’s clutching at her chest and feeling sharp, throbbing pains. What’s
happening?
She’s moaning. Oh. I don’t like the way her eyes look. She’s gasping for air now – lips blue.
Please, someone. Help her.
Grandpa?
What... who?
Grandpa, is that you? It’s me. April. I think I’m dying. Are you here to show me the way?
You can see me? You know I’m here?
Oh yes, Grandpa. I’m so glad you came. It’s my time, isn’t it?
Oh my God. No, April. No. Don’t die now. It can’t be your time yet. Once you’re gone no one will Remember
me.
I... I don’t understand.
Oh, April, but you will. You will. When you die you...
April?
April?
Trunk Novels
 |  |  |  |  |
