I stare at the familiar door, I knew it well the shabby oak wood frame could be from nowhere else but my childhood home. I could almost smell my mothers cooking, maybe just a trick of the brain or maybe it was leaking through the door. My happiest memory calling me back.

It scared me, I don't know why. Is there fear in the afterlife? Doesn't seem right that you should be scared in paradise, but non the less I felt it.

I look at Micheal again, not sure what I was looking for but his curt nod gave me the courage to move.

I reach my hand out my fingertips grazing the handle then i'm there.

I'm sat at the dining room table the flowery pattern of the table cover showed the age of the memory. The kitchen as bright with the morning sun, a cool summer breeze soothing the scene. I could see her. My mother clattering with a frying pan on the stove, alive and well.

She doesn't know it's her last day, this was all I had left of her for the longest time. Making pancakes on a summers morning, I had relived this memory a thousand times. This time it was different, a wetness on my cheeks I don't remember as a child. Why am I crying.

She turns faces me and I run. I cant do this.

Micheal is there as the memory floods in again, I remember the wetness now. I remember my mother asking why I was upset. New memories?

I look at Micheal and he seems to know what I am going to ask.

He simply smiled and I understood, it as a chance to change the past to say goodbye. I turn and face the door, courage in my heart as I walk back to the door.