The Light at the End of the Tunnel

The Light at the End of the Tunnel

I have never believed in any sort of god; or gods for that matter. You might have called me an atheist, I called myself a realist. For 65 straight years on earth, I lived as a realist, with no religious beliefs or affiliations. People always told me “God can really change your life.” That’s all well and good for people who need their lives changed; and I meant no disrespect to people that turn to a higher power in their times of need. I just didn’t need change in my life; in fact, I didn’t want it at all. I’d done very well for myself. I had a big beautiful home, and a loving family. I had it all. When I turned 65, I decided that I had enough saved to retire. I spoke to my wife and kids about it, and they all supported my decision. So retire I did. I placed my company in the willing and responsible hands of my oldest son, and he made many improvements to the company that didn’t seem necessary at first, but saved us millions in the end. He made me very proud. The first few years of my retirement were smooth sailing; I traveled with my wife, visiting a variety of countries and learning about many different cultures. After three and a half years of retirement, I noticed that I enjoyed just sitting behind my desk and thinking. About anything. My old job, my family, what I was having for dinner… anything that interested me and forced me to think. I spent many days sitting at that desk, and for a while that had me feeling very content about my life. Until one day. The one day that made everything real in an instant. This thought was the most burdensome and dark thought that I had ever had, and every day I tried to ignore it. I was able to ignore it for many years, until I was about 75 years old. I then realized that I wasn’t quite as spry as I used to be; I felt my joints getting older, and more difficult to use. One might say “oh that’s normal, you’re just getting older.” While that was true, I realized a horrifying truth… as I got weaker, the dark burdensome thought got stronger: “What will become of my body, mind, and soul after my death?” With no religious beliefs to assure me that all would be all right, and no higher power to lean on for support as my demise neared me, I became terrified.  Each day I dreaded the possibility that as I got out of bed I would suddenly drop dead, right there. Thankfully, nothing like that happened until I reached the age of 101 years old. My doctor had just finished evaluating me in my bed after I wasn’t able to get out of my bed, or even move without an excruciating pain. He had just finished speaking to my oldest son, who was gathered with my two other children, another son and my daughter. I couldn’t hear what they were saying, but I didn’t need to. Their somber faces as they approached my bed said it all; I was going to die tonight. They told me the news, and I accepted it. We spoke, laughed, cried, and shared my last hours together. Finally, I felt myself unable to keep my eyes open. Surrounded by my children, my biggest accomplishment, I was proud. As my eyes closed to bring me to everlasting sleep, my mind could not be more awake. After 36 years of constant dread and nervous wonder, I found myself excited. Suddenly, the small amount of light that was intruding through my eyelids faded, and I could no longer hear my kid’s sobs and cries. At that moment, I saw the blackest scene you could imagine. No light whatsoever. The darkest place one could even imagine; no, even darker. I was terrified. I realized that I was beginning to forget what my entire previous 101 years of life had entailed; in fact, I could barely remember my own name, let alone my children’s names. As the last shreds of memory escaped my thoughts, I saw a light. The tiniest yet brightest pinprick of light had made its appearance in the apparent cave that I was trapped in. I began crawling toward the light, but suddenly, I lost control of my limbs. They flopped uselessly at my sides and I was unable to continue crawling. I felt helpless, and terrified. Is this the afterlife? I asked myself. Condemned to live in a too- small, claustrophobia inducing cave, while being taunted with an obvious escape route with no use of my body? It was awful. I spent about eight hours in that enclosure, flopping around helplessly. Then, I heard voices. Very faint, barely audible, but voices. I screamed, cried, and sobbed, trying to catch the attention of the unknown owners of the voices. Over time, the voices got louder and louder, and I was able to make out what they were saying. They were shouting words of encouragement. I heard a woman yelling “Come on! Come on! You can do it!” That voice was all I needed to convince myself that my efforts weren’t in futility, and to keep going. At last, the light got brighter and larger. I was using every single muscle in my frail, tired body to force myself out through the apparent escape route. At last, a pair of large, gloved hands reached in through the end of the tunnel and grabbed me by my head and shoulders and gently eased me out. As my ability to comprehend what was going on disappeared, I felt as if my intelligence was decreasing. The last words that were said were words of pride and accomplishment, and sounded relieved… 

It's a Boy!!!

Author's Note

This is my first writing, please be honest