For darkness held his vision prisoner as he drew his last breath, falling into oblivion. The crisp hospital gown, which caressed his fragile skin, melted as did the stinging smell of antiseptic—his son’s tears rang empty, and from within oblivion, his heart thumped one last time. 

He awoke under a willow tree. A delicate light broke through the swaying leaves above him, fracturing across his face as though it were being shone through a broken windshield. He sat up slowly—the air was thick with a peculiar sweetness, a fragrance that blended the scent of blooming flowers with warm rain. It filled his sinuses, resting on the back of his tongue. 

The ground was cool and slightly damp, and yet, somewhat comforting. There were whispers that carried in the distance—birds whose symphonies carried throughout the valley; over hills and mountains barely visible through a faint fog. Turning his head, he saw a meandering stream, cutting through the plains, leading to a forest. Its trees stood tall and strong; their leaves were brighter than anything he’d ever seen. And then it occurred to him, he sat, isolated in the middle of a plain underneath this tree. 

“My name is Henderson,” he said, the words feeling strange on his tongue. 

It was as though he hadn’t spoken in a thousand years. Henderson stood up, wiping the dew from his hands onto his pants. For a seventy-nine-year-old, he moved surprisingly well. 

“Where am I?” he whispered. 

“The Willow Tree.”

Henderson spun around. “Who said that?” 

“I did,” a voice said, this time in physical form. 

Henderson gaped as he turned to face the source of the voice. Materializing before him was a man; he appeared to be made completely of light, and if Henderson were to come near him, he’d be burned and soothed all at once. The light dimmed, and the man appeared fully in the flesh. Henderson understood him to be nothing more than normal. Fitted in faded blue jeans, a red and black plaid button-down, and brown hair that fell over his eyes in an untidy mess, the man smiled gently. 

“Welcome home my son,” the man smiled. 

“I don’t understand,” Henderson started. “A moment ago, I was in the hospital. I was with my son and—” 

“That moment has long passed for me and the world. You’ve been dead for ten thousand years.” 

Henderson’s heart sputtered, and quickly he found his knees—unable to support his weight—buckling underneath him. The man offered his hand, pulling Henderson to his feet; he brushed off the grass and held his face in his glowing palms. 

“The afterlife?” he muttered, his voice quivering. 

“I understand it to be difficult for humans to comprehend this. Take all the time you need. I will wait here as long as it takes,” the man said. 

Henderson shook his head. “Does this mean you’re God?” 

The man laughed. “I’ve had many names over the years. Call me what you will, but if you would prefer my true name, refer to me as The Keeper.” 

Henderson nodded, stumbling over to the trunk of the willow tree. He tried to process this revelation, his mind struggling to grasp the enormity of the situation. His memories—just moments ago—felt like distant echoes, fading away in a singularity. 

“The life I lived… was it a good one?” 

“You tell me, my son.” 

“I tried my best to be a good person… a good father.” 

“I know you did,” The Keeper smiled, his hands tucked into his jean pockets. 

The rustling of branches carried in the wind, feeding Henderson’s ears and caressing his skin. It came from the forest beyond the willow tree. 

“That,” Henderson pointed to the swaying trees, “is that—” 

“Heaven?” The Keeper interrupted.

Henderson turned his head to The Keeper, a look of confusion painting his face. 

“My apologies. I get tired waiting for everyone to speak,” he said with a cocky smile. 

Henderson cracked a smile, his shoulders relaxing as he turned his gaze back to the forest. 

“It is Heaven,” The Keeper said. “Well, at least that’s what you call it.”

“What do you call it?” Henderson asked. 

“To me, it’s my garden.”

“My wife… my son… are they there? Can I go see them?” 

There was no response from The Keeper. For the first time since Henderson had awoken, he felt truly alone, but when he turned around, he found The Keeper standing there, a blank expression strewn across his all-knowing face. 

“No, Henderson. Not yet.”

“Why?” Henderson gawked. 

He had finally died, only to discover that the afterlife existed! And now, he stood in the very presence of who everyone on Earth called their god, and that very same entity—the one who called him his son—is denying him access to true peace… to tranquility?

“I know what you are thinking, my son.” 

“Then tell me why!” Henderson demanded.

The Keeper chuckled. “For it is that very same tenacity that I’ve chosen you. See, you have awoken at The Willow Tree, and because of this…” he trailed. 

Henderson could see in his eyes that he had spoken this way before—had given this speech to thousands of people, and each time, it never got easier. 

“You will be sent back to Earth. You will assume a new life, new family, and new friends. But, you will keep your memories of your life as Henderson.”

His face turned ghostly pale as the blood drained from his head. 

“No,” he pleaded. “I don’t understand. Why?”

“You have a greater purpose in this story, Henderson.”

“I just want to see my wife.. my son!” 

The Keeper stepped toward Henderson and placed a hand on his quivering shoulder. He watched tears stream from Henderson’s eyes as he begged and pleaded to be freed from this nightmare, to be allowed sanctuary into the garden. 

“This is a pain no one knows more than me,” The Keeper said.

Henderson dropped to his knees, gripping The Keeper’s legs. “Please, God. Please don’t do this.” 

The Keeper sighed. “I cannot tell you much about your journey, Henderson, but if there is one thing I will allow you to know, it is this. This will not be the last time you see your family, and it will not be the last you see of me.” 

He turned away from Henderson, wiping a tear that fell from his golden eyes. “Goodbye my child, I will be watching.” 

And as Henderson heaved on the ground—his chest hitching as he begged for mercy—the light that fell upon his skin faded and the world grew dark and empty. But from this emptiness birthed a new light, one that grew and grew until the dank smell of antiseptic emerged, filling his nostrils and drawing tears from his newborn eyes.