Guardian (continued)

Faint pink-violet light peeks above the horizon. Dawn begins and I’m relieved that I haven’t lost all sense of the passage of time and the days. It is still some time before Jessica will be awakened by her father, though. These are strange, quiet hours: nature begins to awaken, but few humans do. Those who don’t miss the magic of it. I’m not sure I truly appreciated it when I was among the living. I suppose I do, from time to time, notice the colors and occasional beauty of it through the windshield of a car driving to work or through whatever rare window might be present in the building in which I was employed. When one has nothing but time, I guess you learn to spend it more freely, to view and value the things that you wished you had in life.

Somewhere, far off, I hear sirens. They are distant, heading further away from this house where Jessica and her family reside. I’m not sure whether it might be an ambulance, fire engine, or police vehicle. My son knew the difference—and was always willing to test and correct me when I guessed wrong. It was a fun little kind of game we played. He liked being able to show off—to demonstrate that there were things that he knew that his father didn’t. I don’t think it made him particularly superior, but pleased that there were areas in which his knowledge exceeded mine—something somewhat rare in his experience. But then fifty-plus years of life and learning will do that: it’s amazing how much unrelated knowledge one can acquire during the course of a lifetime, often without meaning to. Of course, I usually meant to. I could never see why learning should not be a lifelong pursuit. I’d seen too many people grow old before their time, eschewing new knowledge and experience for the safety of the familiar and the comfort of memories.

I was fearful that memories—and endlessly reliving them—might be all that I would have if I was wrong about this new state of existence. I am grateful that I seem to be able to still learn new things. I do wonder, though, where this new information is being stored, as I don’t believe I still have a physical brain, with its network of neurons and receptors, in which to store and access it.

Guardian (continued)

I wonder if that will make eternity seem to last even longer—if such a thing is possible. I remember a line from some television show: “The problem with immortality is that it’s boring.” I suppose that living an eternity in this state—or any state, I imagine—must be a lot like that. I haven’t been existing in it long enough yet to know, but I can see how that might be.

A memory comes to me of the cool, damp scent of pre-dawn, that time when the dew has settled like mist on everything before the morning sun burns it away. Most people start their days too late to notice it, but I remember it well, for I often left for work in the pre-dawn hours in order to avoid the worst of the traffic that clogs the California freeways from dawn until nightfall.

I thought I’d miss that, but I find a certain longing for it—for the solitary time alone in my car listening to one narrator or another reading from some old book I’d once read. It was my way of returning to the novels that I remembered from my younger days, having little time in the evenings to read both new stories and revisit old tales. That I will never be able to read to Jessica is a loss that I’m not sure that I considered before. For something so important to me, you’d have thought that I would have given it some consideration. Perhaps I did; I no longer remember.

What else have I forgotten? Is that how this existence ends—that my memories slowly fade, one by one, until none remain and whatever I am now is gone? That seems a horrible way to go, but I’m not sure I’ll even be aware of it. I mean, how can you realize that you’ve forgotten something that you no longer remember? I seem to remember everything about my life . . . at least no less than I think I remember while still living it. There is that four-year gap after my living existence ended, but I think that’s a different thing. For all I know, I spent them on the bank of a great world-spanning river. Or somewhere on Mars. Or . . . I have no idea.