[ WP ] You are dead , but before you can go on to heaven or hell , you must meet all the people you could 've been .

LGBT issues, suicide ahead. 
 
 The end, when it finally came, was both more painful and more of a relief than I'd anticipated. What mattered to me was that it was over. Even a little excitement over the idea that my questions about an afterlife or lack thereof would finally be answered. 
 
 At first it was like going through a train tunnel. Darkness and a vague sensation of movement, though the transition back to light was slow and gentle. A room, simple but comfortable, coalesced around me. I was lying on a daybed under a painting of a sunset over a white sand beach. In the center of the room, a woman who looked to be in her forties or fifties sat behind an understated wooden desk. She was smiling at me, but it was a sad, almost disappointed smile. 
 
 `` Oh my dear,'' She said, `` I hoped it was n't you.'' Her voice was warm and comforting, but had that same undercurrent of sadness as her expression. I sat up slowly, still a little groggy. 
 
 `` I'm sorry.'' I said, voice shaking. She shook her head and opened a small, leather-bound book in front of her. 
 
 `` So am I, my dear, for what you're going to have to face next.'' My stomach twisted. `` It's not what you're thinking.'' She added quickly. `` It would be a terrible existence if those who were tormented in life were further made to suffer afterwards. There are just a few people who you'll need to meet, but in your case I'm afraid this may be painful.'' 
 
 `` A few people?'' 
 
 `` Usually, when a person dies, they come face to face with the people they could have been had their lives taken a different turn at various points.'' She explained. `` In many cases, it's inspirational for them. They see they were the best they could have been, or that they could have been much worse.'' She turned a few pages in the book. `` What you're about to see is n't your fault. In fact, if it had been up to me, we would have forgone this in your case. But it is n't up to me, I'm afraid.'' 
 
 A door behind her opened, and an old man leaning on a polished cane stepped through. The resemblance to my maternal grandfather was so strong, for a moment I thought that was who he was. He was bald, liver spots covering his skin. His eyes clearly strained to take in the room, but found me after a brief search. 
 
 `` So, here we are, then.'' He said, his voice brittle. It was me. Me, as I could have been had I grown old. `` I do n't blame you. I was n't ever happy. This would n't have worked.'' 
 
 He looked as though he was waiting for me to say something, but I could n't make my mouth work even if I wanted to. He turned and walked back out the door. My blood had gone cold. I was terrified of who might walk out that door next. 
 
 It was a more familiar face, one I recognized from middle school yearbooks. That made all to much sense. The kids in middle school had been the absolute worst. 
 
 `` How long did you make it?'' He asked. 
 
 `` Twenty-eight years.'' I replied automatically. 
 
 `` Not bad. Did you ever tell anyone?'' 
 
 `` No! I could n't. They would n't have understood.'' The kid shook his head sadly. 
 
 `` That's what I was afraid of.'' He rushed over and hugged me awkwardly around the waist. `` Good luck. I hope one of us made it.'' Then he too went back through the door. I was shaking. 
 
 `` Is that it?'' I asked the woman behind the desk. Her eyes were wet. 
 
 `` Just one more.'' She said quietly. I was on the verge of breaking down myself. I turned to stare at the painting on the wall above the bed where I had woken up, and heard the door open behind me. 
 
 `` Hey, you.'' 
 
 The voice was soft and gentle, and my heart dropped. I made myself turn back. The person I had always wanted to be gazed back at me from across the room. 
 
 She was beautiful.
