Winds of Time

The first thing she noticed after dying was the flash of hot, white light that brought in a cool, dry breeze. The wind tickled her skin, light as a feather, welcoming her to the next plane of existence.

She knew she was dead. Moments ago, she heard the soft good-byes, felt the hot tears on her skin, and the undeniable feeling of separating from one’s body. Now, everything was silent, pain ceased to creak sharply through her bone marrow like it had for so long, and a sense of calm blanketed her. She knew her body had done all it could, and she felt grateful for the vessel that had harbored her for so many years.

As her vision began to adjust, jarred from the sudden burst of light, she was surprised to find herself where she was only moments ago, surrounded by the loved ones she had just left behind on their earthly plane. Their faces and bodies as still as statues, exactly as she had left them.

To her left was the old man she had loved dearly, clasping her hand in both of his. His wrinkled, soft fingers playing with the simple wedding band he had given her years ago, one of two she had refused to take off. His face was tear soaked, and she wished she could comfort him. In the room stood several loved ones, with grief stricken faces, embracing one another. All mourning the passing of their family matriarch. She remembered her own instances of grief throughout life, and took comfort that they would find their own way to move on just as she had.

The breeze continued to cross over her skin, bringing her attention to her untethered self. Looking at herself, she saw she was made of shimmering light, that glistened like morning sun on the ocean water. It was almost like an iridescent, holographic rendering of her corporal form. She marveled at her ethereal being, feeling only her emotions and the wind that continued to roll through the room. 

Instinctively, she felt the need to move. Assuming that she was to move on, to find her place in this phase of existence, she readied herself for the next adventure. Testing her unbodied self, she moved from where she died, only to stumble as the wind began to blow in torrents around her.

Forced to step forward to catch herself, pushed by the unrelenting wind, everything in the room began to move. Startled, she tried to stand still, but was unable. The wind pressed against her almost violently, and moving forward was inevitable. Unable to hear due to the loud rushing of the squall over her ears, she watched as everything and everyone moved around her, fighting to stay upright to watch the spectacle around her. 

As she moved in the direction of the wind, the forms around her moved in the most unusual manners. Cusping on unnatural, she couldn’t place what was wrong at first.

A wet, crumpled tissue being pulled away from it’s handlers face, returning to the box un-wrinkled and pristine.

Tears that should be glistening down cheeks, returning upward to glassy eyes, never falling to earth.

Hair swept backwards, with no explicable way of doing so.

Looking back to her own body, she took in the frail form worn down with age. It was breathing, chest rising and falling in a rough, uneven rhythm.

The trenchant wind continued to push her forward, as she had to grapple with the realization that she was being forced through time.

In reverse.

Marching onward, the days leading up to her death, the room bustled in activity. Faces of loved ones and friends coming to her bedside and saying their goodbyes. The chaos of flowers and get well balloons slowly disappearing as their entrances and exits passed by her shimmering form. She remembered some of their sweet departing words, although she knew her lucidity toward the end ebbed and flowed. Her sweet partner and children taking care of her dying body, surrounding her in conversations she knew were filled with reminiscing memories together. Grandchildren ran in and out of the room, their hand-drawn tokens pinned to the wall disappearing as time rewinded in front of her.

The roaring gales rushing around her pushed her on, as she watched herself seemingly became stronger as the weeks and the years passed by. In no way did her passing through disrupt the physical world around her. Leaves rustled softly on branches outside the windows of her home, birthday candles upon cakes burned steady until returning to the lighter which they came. 

Rather than seeing her life unfold before her, she saw it tidy itself up. Her wrinkles decreased in severity, her gray hair turned back to its natural color. Her body tightened and firmed while moving in reverse, and she watched herself live through the profound and the mundane.

She reflected on all the time devoted to necessary evils, such as dishes and laundry.

Bursts of emotions happened, and the cause of them revealed themselves as she moved in the direction of the wind. Like reading a novel, in which all spoilers had explained the foreshadowing before reading it for oneself.

Laughing uncontrollably, then watching the silly play her grandchildren put on full of ideas only imaginative young minds could produce.

Sobbing on the kitchen floor, then watching the phone call that informed her that her closest friend had been killed in a car accident. 

The wind whipped against her, while living the moments that made her life extraordinary.

The elopement she and her second husband. The man by her side when she died, who played with the silver band next to the gold one. She saw it seemingly come off, knowing that as he slipped it on, she could only see it being removed from this vantage point.

Her seeing her grandchildren, shortly after they had been born. She felt proud reliving the moments her own children became parents, now knowing they had excelled in the role.

Sunsets turned into days, and sunrises gave way to stars, the inky black sky home to the stars she spent so much time admiring.

Days flew past, good and bad, special and forgettable. 

She watched with rapt wonder, sometimes surprised by the things she had forgotten.

When a kind stranger helped her with a flat tire. The local barista re-making a coffee she had spilled all over herself while struggling to get in the car.

Her father’s funeral appeared, the casket appearing and the pile of roses being removed one by one. One of those roses belonged to a younger self, with swollen eyes, tired from crying through the grief of his loss. Upon the realization she was going to see him again, she began to run with the wind full of unbridled excitement, no longer fighting against its pressing force in the vain effort to slow down. Upon reaching herself crying next to his death bed, she was startled by the same hot, bright light that welcomed her to life-after-death. Her father’s body suddenly reanimated, and his presence had returned to her life.

A similar experience followed, and while watching her own mother’s crossing from one plane to another, the light flashed again. Identical to lights that marked her own and her father’s deaths. A light that she didn’t ever remember seeing before her own death.

The joy of seeing her parents again overwhelmed her.

Years blurred by, and her grown children reversing from independent adults to young adults.

The months of heartbreak after the death of her first husband, until the day of his death. The wind bringing the final months they had together, before his unexpected death, consumed every ounce of her attention. Seeing the time they had together healed a wound she didn’t know she still harbored. 

She frowned again at all the time spent on the Sisyphean tasks of dishes and laundry. 

Inexplicable joy filled her at seeing the people she missed most in this world rejoin her memories. She only wished she could hear their laughter, but the deafening wind made it impossible. As they appeared one by one, the realization that the memories of her children would soon stop. A foreboding dread came over her, as she tried fruitlessly to slow down time.

She watched her children turn from young adults, and devolve into adolescents. Slammed doors turned into pictures on the fridge, the various bouquets of dandelions and twigs that filled glass mason jars on the kitchen counter flickered through the moments in her life.

She saw her youngest child move into toddlerhood, and reversing into the sweet baby she remembered. Sleepless nights and newborn cuddles. Panic settled in, knowing that upon each birth, she would no longer see the children that she loved dearly so completely. Completely helpless, she tried slow her pace, but the wind pushed her forward. Like in life, a parent was never ready to say goodbye to their child; She was just as inept to stop time after death, as she had been in life.

The birth of her youngest came, and just as she saw them take their first breath, the blinding light flashed bright around her.

The same light that announced death also announced life. The portal between physical existence and inmaterial existence she inhabited now.

The pattern repeated with each child, the bright light marking their entrance into the world. For her though, in this moment in time, it announced the end of her own time with them. She mourned the moments as they passed, and begrudgingly yielded to the will of the wind. 

She watched herself as a young woman, seeing the moments that shaped her into the woman she had left behind. Working thankless jobs, struggling to make ends meet. Nights filled with cheap noodle dinners, and walks in the park to pass the time.

She saw her wedding, and her first husband placing the gold band on her left hand, similar to her elopement, but forty years younger. She watched the moment she knew she was in love, giddy with the energy only young love can bring. She saw passionate kisses grow more innocent, until she saw their first tender kiss. The memories of flirting and dating passing by, capped off by their first meeting.

This time as memories of a loved one ended, she only felt grateful that they had been there to begin with, and this push through time gave her extra time she never knew she was going to have.

She watched her struggle through college and high-school, straight teeth turning into a jumble of silver head gear. She cringed at all the embarrassing moments accompanied with growing up, and grimaced through the unforgiving pains of puberty. She laughed at the mischief she got into with childhood friends.

Like her own children, she saw herself become smaller and younger. The time spent with her parents increasing in frequency. She watched them relishing the moments she knew were her firsts then, and ultimately her lasts now. Riding a bike, writing down her own name, her first steps.

She laughed seeing her own parents suffered the pains of dishes and laundry, while her naive self played beside them.

The wind was loudest now, and she steeled her resolve as she moved through time.

The time was approaching, and she watched her own mother care for her as a newborn. She watched the tender moments her mother had with her, just like she had with her own children. The visual proof that they had shared the same experiences connected her to her parents in a way she had never been able to while on earth with them.

She watched them as her mother and father walked backwards into the hospital, the day they left the hospital with her as a baby. Reflecting on all the moments she had witnessed in death, she was now coming to the end. Her parents first moments with her, and the return to the doctor’s hands. She watched herself cry, a pause, the exhale of her first breath, and then with one last gale of wind, time ushered her on. 

Everything was still, and everything was light.

The winds of time had returned her to where everything began.

This time, only her own curiosity pushed her forward to discover what time had left to offer.