The Promise

“Promise me that you’ll be the first person I see on the other side.”

Those weren’t my exact words. I think I said that I wanted to see my dad, too. (Assuming this happens many years into the future.) The both of them together, emerging from a white light and greeting me like a “Field of Dreams” movie sequence. Maybe holding balloons. 

I can’t remember what I said exactly because I was distraught. My mom had told me shortly before that her cancer spread after almost two years of treatment. In retrospect, I was seeking something tangible to believe in. Something hopeful as opposed to the uncontrollable rollercoaster of emotions that had become our new normal. 

“Yes, I promise,” my mom said. 

During our time together, we binged watched many TV shows: Frasier, Friends, anything funny and light-hearted was fair game. One random day we watched YouTube videos about people who had crossed over to the other side. They “almost died,” experiencing blissful serenity before being sent back to our Earthly realm to complete their human life. I watched in silence, listening intently but uncomfortable with the subject matter. My mom, however, was intrigued, and it brought her comfort that there was an afterlife immeasurably better than our current existence. Now that my mom is no longer here, I find myself clinging to an unsubstantiated belief that I’ll see her again.

A few weeks before my mom passed, my cousin spent the night with her in the hospital. I mentioned our promise, and my cousin laughed. 

“I know. Your mom told me.” 

“What? She did?!”

“She didn’t know what to say to you because you were upset. She said she has no clue what’s going to happen.” 

That’s who my mom was, always putting me first her entire life, trying to make me feel better in all circumstances. I don’t care what anybody says or believes in. I’m holding my mom to what she said. After all, she promised.