Better People

I, Annad Connely, died on September 18, 2024. No one was as surprised as I was. I had a heart condition that hid underneath my chronic pain. It gave me something else to blame until heart disease took my life, too early, at age 59.

This is when I learned that our hells are created on earth and carried over into the afterlife. Mine was seeing my family struggle without me. I wished I listened to them when they begged me to go to the doctor.

A few weeks after my death, though, Nova, my wife, surprised me more than my own death; she contacted her parents who treated her little better than a dog. All the years of work we did to help her heal put her in peril, and I was powerless to stop it. Alarmed, I did everything I could to dissuade her, but she couldn't hear me, her belief that she should continue to speak with them so she didn't die estranged from her parents like I had from my mother and siblings blocking any messages I could send her.

However, today, everything changed. Nova told her father about a comicon costume contest our daughter had entered but didn't win. Her father said he was sorry, and Nova said she was not. Participating in the contest is a hobby for our daughter, something low-stakes she could pursue and experience mild disappointment when things don't work out, left her resilience intact while having fun. The skills she develops made her a true winner in the end. When did she become so smart?

Her father's response hit me like a thunderclap. He encouraged his granddaughter to pursue her passion, citing at least a handful of ways she could go on and make a career out of making costumes, such as working at museums.

My shock was overwhelming and complete, creating a booming sound in our little house, and my entire family heard it. My wife joked that it was me falling off the bed from surprise. My lovely wife, so intuitive. She didn't even realize how accurate she really was.

I was so happy for her progress, so proud about how strong she had become. Never did I imagine that she would be able to speak to her father again, but yet, after I died, she pursued a relationship and handled both her parents with grace. Not only had her father become better person, but with my death, somehow Nova had transformed into something magical.

After the kerfuffle of my sonic boom died down, Nova turned on her music again, and I sent her a message. I added to her playlist two songs expressing the way I felt, trying my best to let her know that yes, that boom was me; "Just You N' Me" by Chicago and "(Sittin Here) Lovin' You" by Lovin' Spoonful.

As usual, Nova seemed to nod in acknowledgement, and for the first time since my death, she danced around the kitchen, happy.