Life after Death (a poem)

To have been alive after death
is something she never fails to remember.
The day she faded into the light
like a welcomed sleep,
her pain numbed by the moment,
while her family encircled her,
seemingly removed of their long-established dysfunction.

She suddenly resigned that this was the way to end things;
With her son,
whom she had not seen in a time,
for various reasons,
his face moistened with regret.
With her daughter,
similarly tear drenched,
long past her resentment of her brother.
And with her husband,
assuming that his unexpressed love was known.
And, in fact, his was never more apparent to her than that day,
as if he were combating the illness that was slowly escorting her into the light,
brighter by the second.

She was now an evening sailboat drifting into a celestial Lighthouse
that was set to guide her soul to a place that would hopefully make sense.

And then,…she heard a voice,
the volume of which would pull her back into her hospital bed,
surrounded by a sea of baby blue colored scrubs,
between which bobbed the tenacious faces of her family
excitedly conveying that she had been dead
…but was now alive.

This would move her,
both to tears and,
within days,
…to her feet,
which would transport her out of the hospital
arm in arm in arm in arm
with her husband,
son
and daughter,
and back into her somewhat happier life
…after death.