View from the Top

Stuck as I was, to the ceiling, I remembered the helium-filled balloons from our childhood. We called them ‘gas’ balloons, as opposed to air-filled balloons. There was a difference in price and attitude. While gas balloons were the next-gen pricy ones, floating straight up at the end of their thread, the air-filled poor cousins would bob on the floor. So, there I was, my back stuck to the ceiling, looking down at a room full of people mourning me.

Yes, I was dead, and I had not been able to resist the temptation of attending my condolence meeting. I knew they would not speak ill about me and hence got the courage to listen in. I am not a brave person, or a confident one, neither in life and not yet in death. It seemed just the right opportunity to catch some praise.

I had been dying for a while, and the family had time to assemble. In fact, the ‘year-end holiday with parents,’ was already planned. I had the sense to time it well, thus saving last-minute expensive flight tickets and office leaves. It had been a cherished wish, to be present at my funeral. I floated around in the stratosphere for a few days and here I am today.

I approved the photo they had selected; it was placed on a higher platform. I looked younger and slimmer. Flowers of my choice – a riot of colours – good they remembered that I did not like white. The incense was too strong and I would have started sneezing had I not been incapable of doing so. Only half the place was full. I felt tense. What if it did not fill up? I was having doubts about attendance, just as I had doubts when I gave dinners, or when I arranged webinars. Then I remembered I was dead, and the fear vanished! I had not been a well-connected person in life. So, if the hall filled up, it would be Alex’s credit, without a doubt. He had been the one who did all the networking. He never refrained from reminding me throughout my life that I enjoyed all the benefits that came with those networking efforts.

My children were all here. My two sons, my daughter and my son-in-law, all looked terribly sad. I was wondering why my son-in-law looked so sad when in walked she. Dressed immaculately in a beautiful black smocked frock and wearing a rehearsed askew look, she came towards my photo and put some flowers in front of it. Good, she had to bend her head in front of me, I thought with glee. But what was she doing here? I swear I would have stretched my hand and pinched her fine nose, had I been able to do it. I was told by one of the veteran spirits, while floating around, that the ability to do ‘ghostly’ acts would come with time and with practice. She went back and hugged Alex. Was the hug a little longer and tighter?

I did not like the sad song they were playing. I was not sad, in fact, relived was the correct word. My poor mother, rest her soul, had dragged on and on, much to Alex’s chagrin. I had a mortal fear that I too would drag on. Thankfully I had escaped that, while still in good health.

I was getting bored, as nothing much was happening apart from Alex and she huddled in a corner. Well, I was glad that Alex still had some juice left to run his engine and could choose to drive his car as he wanted. I tried to swim and to my surprise could slide along the ceiling. I paddled in the air and went for a closer look at my photo. Ahh, this was the one where I was posing on a quaint bridge in Giethoorn! What a lovely holiday that was. I would miss the holidays and the food.

The hall was filling up and I could see my elder boy, my Richard, walking to the front. Ahha, Alex had handed over the charge to him while he could snuggle in a corner, I fumed! Tapping the microphone, Richard started after what seemed like a chocked pause. I think my hearing has been affected by my death. I could just see his emotions, his lips moving but could not hear what he was saying. Oh! What a bummer. 

But wait, I could understand everything. He was saying how much he loved his mom, how much he would miss her calling him up to nag him about eating properly, even at 35. He said something and everyone smiled indulgently. It must be one of those childhood tales. Me sitting hawk-eyed, while the three of them studied at the dining room table. I laughed out loud as I remembered how one day one of them had kicked me by mistake and I came to know what went on under the table. And then Patrick, our second son, was waving his hands, probably narrating his favourite memory. Maybe the one he heard from me, of how as a two-year old, he would snuggle up to me and watch ’Santa Barbara,’ just happy to have mom all to himself.

Alex looked tired as he took his turn. He was saying that he would miss me; because with me gone, he was left with no one to boss around! I smiled, for it was true. And while I hated it in life, I liked hearing it after death.

They said nice things, funny things, and good things. I loved it. My life seemed well-lived and well-loved. It had not seemed that way while I had lived. Probably the time that passes is always golden. Death gives the perspective of an observer and you got to wait till the end for that, I laughed (not loud), as I paddled out through the window.

In the meantime, just live well.