[ WP ] Your young , dying body is frozen into suspended animation . 30 years later , you 're cured . What is life like now that your son is older and more mature than you ?

I spend my days gardening. It would hard to find a more useless activity. Expending so much energy for a few flowers, for so little food, seems absurd now. Almost perverse. That is part of why I do it. This is not my world, and working with my hands keeps me centered. 
 
 When I woke, I met my son. It was the same day; they told me that therapy was obsolete, that the projected neural damage had already been taken care of. 
 
 I call him my son, but he was more like a material ghost. 
 We met on a green field under a blue sky, his black hair waving in the wind. It was like a stock photo; had probably been generated from one. 
 
 `` You were from the last generation to die,'' he said gently. `` Make a computer smarter than a person, and it does the same. Rinse and repeat a few times. Things escalated pretty quickly.'' \ 
 
 `` How quickly?'' 
 
 He shrugged. *It* shrugged? 
 `` We're setting up our first relays in neighboring galaxies.'' 
 
 `` I step out for 30 years, and this is what happens?'' I joked feebly. 
 
 He smiled politely at my joke. `` We're all in the cloud now; we make more progress every second than in all human history before the jump. Even that's just a metaphor, you know `` 
 
 `` I do n't remember you being this smug,'' I said. But I did. Oh, I did. 
 
 `` It's still me,'' he said. `` I can control how I..manifest... you can join us, you know. It is your choice.'' 
 
 I'd refused their offers before, but I did n't know what to say this time, not to him. `` I have a garden,'' I muttered. 
 
 He seemed to understand. `` If you change your mind,'' he said, `` Just look up from your garden and say so. We will know.'' 
 
 That was years ago. I think of him as I don my gloves today, as I do every day. But his world is not mine. There's planting to be done, and thinking too much does not help.
