Returning to my childhood home feels odd. The paint of the old walls peeling off after all these years, the mold building in the corners of each room, the dirty spots from jumping on the walls when I was a kid. It feels empty here without you. I can remember all those fun times long ago, making forts with the couch cushions, climbing the trees in the backyard; I haven’t been here in so long. You did good without me, you lived your long life. It feels like it’s been centuries since I lived here. I hope you’re doing good, wherever you are. I wonder what it’s like there.

Maybe it’s a world of solitude in the clouds, where you can look down on the earth and see how things are going.

Maybe it’s like your childhood home, feeling young for the rest of your life, jumping on the sofa, playing games with people from your past.

Maybe it’s an infinite ocean with the calming sound of the waves soothing you for eternity.

Maybe it’s the greatest moment of your life, like being married, on repeat for the rest of your afterlife.

Maybe you life forever on earth as a ghost, unseeable by anyone and unable to interact with anything, as an observer for the rest of time.

Maybe you immediately start your next life, with no memory of ever existing before then.

Or maybe it’s nothing, a black void with nothing to do but walk around and reflect on the only things you can remember. Maybe all you do now is remember all those great times, playing with your parents, helping me with things, having dinner as a family. But for now, all I can say is maybe. There won’t be an answer until I get there. And since you got there before me… please wait for me, Mom.