Eighty-nine years.
Eighty-nine wonderful years filled with joy, laughter, sadness, and — most importantly — love.
It was a warm spring evening when Leven Phoenix took her last breath.
Within the bedroom of her home in Seattle, her children sat obediently at the bedside with strewn tears across their cheeks.
Amera Iona Shepherd, the spitting image of her father with a personality aligned with her mother, takes the frail hand into her own.
Christopher Gabriel Shepherd, born only three years after, stands tall behind his sisters, although his chest aches deeply.
Liora Cristina Shepherd, the youngest yet boldest of the three, simply lays her head against the covered bed, silent tears pooling in her eyes.
"Mom. . .it's okay." Amera's voice cracks from under her. "You can go. Dad's waiting for you."
Unfortunate for all, Derek had passed a short seven years before from old age. Yet even in his state, the only thought in his mind was that he was the first to go.
The way he wanted it to be.
Leven purses her pale lips, the pace at which her chest rises and falls gradually decreasing. And in that moment, her gaze falls upon the legacy she's left behind within her three children, the purpose for which she survived so long, against all odds.
Her eyes shut, and her breath draws to a close.
- - - - - - - - - -
"For God's sake, would someone turn off that light?"
"You mean heaven?"
My eyes snap open, and instead of being a riddled old woman in bed, I stand upright on top of an invisible ground. Every inch of my limbs have vanished every wrinkle, and suddenly I feel as young as twenty-five.
". . .God?"
"Close enough."
In all his glory, Derek appears in front of me, not having aged since the day I met him. His hands are stuffed into pant pockets, and he steps closer.
"It's been seven years too long since I last saw you."
"Really? It felt like only a second I wasn't with you."
His teeth glisten as they always have, a sight I could watch for eternity.
"Well? What are you waiting for?"
Without another thought, I run into his open arms, something I've been dreaming of since time took him away.
"Have you been working out up here?"
It's enough for him to pull away, a laugh bursting through the air.
"Every time you open your mouth, I just want to. . ."
"Punch me in the face?"
My words follow smoothly as I recall one of our first moments together.
"Not even a little."
And our lips meet.
THE END.