How I imagine the afterlife

David Eagleman wrote a book I love called Sum: Forty Tales of the Afterlives. It is forty different answers to the question of what happens after we die. The book is so thought provoking that I couldn’t help imagining my own.

Back when you were alive, as you left the house each morning, you would hesitate right before pulling the door closed behind you. For an anxious moment, you would hold the door ajar as you balanced your phone and a half eaten piece of toast in one hand, your other hand conducting a swift pat of down your body, reaching across your chest and your pockets, checking for essential items. Your day ahead would play through in your mind, checking off all the things you thought you might need to bring with you. The confirmation of a square lump in your back pocket and a jingle in another was usually enough to reassure you; eventually realising that your phone was in your hand the whole time was the final prompt you needed. You’d pull the door closed behind you, and go.

A few times over the years, you were asked in conversation what you would do if your house caught on fire — what items you would run back inside to save. This would set your mind on a mental scan of your bedroom, your kitchen and your lounge room, trying to imagine the things that money wouldn’t be able to replace; the photos, old jewellery, family heirlooms. Though it seemed the most…