I Promise to Find You in the Afterlife

“It begins like this” by Ala Fox The year I turned twelve, Mom and I talked a lot about death. Ever since my older sister, Shira, learned about the concept of infinity in school, she’s been scaring me with ideas about the universe and what happens when you die. I get terrified thinking about it, but Mom says not knowing is the scariest part, so we muse about the afterlife together. We imagine what age you live at after you die. Whether we are all old, or all young, or can choose to spend forever at the age when we met the person we loved most in life. I tell Mom I would choose this age, forever. I would always be her child. We muse about the Fire, whether it’s like an endless tunnel slide. You speed past openings from which voices you recognize ring out in laughter, but you can never stop and reach them. You’re stuck in a downward spiral, unable to catch a glimpse of the faces you long to see. We wonder whether souls can get lost in Heaven. If Heaven and Hell are the same place, but Hell is never finding your loved ones again, and Heaven is when you do. We wonder about the holding place—a waystation for the departed, everyone waiting to board their train in order of arrival. I tell Mom that if I die first, I will wait for her. I will let all the trains pass until I see her face appear. I will be the first to greet her, and we’ll never worry about getting lost. My mother tells me she will do the same. “Promise?” “Promise.” It begins like this: Our last weekend in the old house. To me, it is already the old house because Mom, Shira, and I are moving to the new apartment next week. Mom’s already signed the lease, and Dad isn’t coming. Dad’s staying behind, and I like that just fine. Dad is here this weekend to help us move. He’s back from China where […]

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