You bolt upright, your eyes opening as you inhale sharply; the uncontrolled gasp of someone who has been without air for too long. You go through the motions of looking around and cautiously calling “Hello?”, though you have the sense that it is pointless. Glancing down, you realise you are lying in a plain white bed. Surrounding you is a hollow white void, incomprehensibly spreading to infinity in all directions. A yell here would not echo; it would be lost to eternity. You somehow perceive that some of the white is a floor and some of the white is the endless dome of the sky. You hear a voice, soothing and deep and authoritative, settling into your ears like morphine.

“Welcome”, I say.

You look to your right and see me next to the bed, three times your size and cloaked in black. My frame provides a deep contrast against the stark white. You know who I am. “Let’s go” I say.

You slide your legs out of bed and land silently on the white floor. It is cold to the touch. “Have you come to take me?”

“No.” I say, as we walk forward together towards nothing. “Cancer killed you. That already happened. I am here to guide you. You are but a soul now, faceless, formless, a silhouette with no memory of your past life.”

We walk, and come to a simple wooden door. “So this is it then?” You say.

“Yes.”

“Where does it go?”

“That depends. Sometimes, a person’s identity becomes lost to them. Their soul cannot be at rest because they are confused, and they are sent back to live another life. For a soul to ascend they must be content with themselves; they must be at rest spiritually before they can be put to true rest. So then the question is…” I pause, resting my hand on the door frame, “…where are you going?”

I gesture to our left and you see a brilliant white grand piano has appeared. You feel the familiar white leather of the seat and sit in your usual place, resting your hands naturally on the keys. “You played since you were a child.”

“This is what we call an anchor.” I continue, gesturing with the sleeve of my cloak to the instrument. “This piano is imbued with your entire identity; the memories of your past life are tied to it.”

Then

Your memories rush back to you; pouring into your mind and filling the blank spaces.

Your entire life pans out in front of you.

You see all your mistakes, all the embarrassing moments, all your favourite foods.

You see your deepest regret.

You see your greatest fears.

You see your highest moment of joy.

And you see your loved ones, crowded around your hospital bed with a blend of tears and smiles on their faces. You vaguely hear their farewells and comforting words, then you close your eyes for the very last time.

And in the space of those few moments, you live your entire life; experiencing each story again for the first time.

..

You blink back a tear and look up at me.

I continue talking.

“Often during your lifetime it is difficult to see through the chaos and concerns. When your memory is returned by the anchor, you experience your entire life with renewed perspective, and you can discover who you really are, not just the person you wanted to be or the person you thought you were.”

And now you understand. All the good and bad episodes of your life, with all your mistakes and all your successes and all your accidents, shaped who you are. They were the wind and the weather that chipped away at your soul and smoothed the rock into the perfection that it was always meant to be.

I turn the handle of the door and it opens, bright blue light beaming out across your formless silhouette.

And you step through the door.