There is always a beginning, and always an end.

I am the end.

There was one before me, there will be one after me, but for now, I just am. I open the gate for those who have passed. It is a delicate matter and if I’m a moment too late, they become lost. They will be unable to leave. Nobody’s perfect, not even me. I am haunted by their screams, their anger, their cries. I can only apologize so much. I try to stay detached as much as I can, but that’s hard.

Being with them for days, even weeks before their time, makes it almost impossible not to feel something. I'm not supposed to feel. I'm not supposed to pass judgment. But I do, I am mistakenly flawed. I watch them for too long, I feel too much, and the gate closes because I am too slow.

He doesn’t help. I have been in the dark for almost a year, watching him. It has never taken this long before. As soon as I see the light fade, I need to open the gate. I must analyze closely. I can’t hesitate. Many times it seems as though he watches me back, like now. But that’s not so. It cannot be so. I am only visible in those last moments before they go through.

His gray eyes follow me as I pace back and forth, but I quickly realize he is only looking at the pictures on his wall.

"I know you're there," he mumbled. I stopped moving. He had rolled on his side, now looking out the window. "I know you're there," he said again. He can't be talking to me. He's not. "I can feel you. You've been watching me." I let out the breath I was holding. I continued my slow pacing as I realize he's just praying. His eyes are closed. I move closer to his bed.

I rarely find those during prayer. It baffles me, even I don’t know what lurks beyond the gate. His lips moved as the words rolled out. I listened to while studying his features. His dark curls falling into his eyes, making it hard to see if they're open or not. I moved closer as he rolled over. Dark eyes locked onto mine. Could now be the time? Finally? I bend over, waiting. Waiting is what I do best. He looked at me.

“Hello,” he said.

***

I remember my first kiss. The pull was something I had never felt before. I had only been here for a short while before it came. A fire rising within, increasing the more I resisted. I was being ripped apart, I knew it. I was just put here, only to be taken away just as fast. I gave in. Maybe someone made a mistake. Maybe I wasn’t meant to be here. The burning subsided the closer I got. To what, I did not know.

I found myself outside of a room. The door was ajar, a light flickered above, as though it beckoned me to enter. My measured steps fell lightly on the tiled floor, inching closer to whatever was beeping behind the curtain hanging in the middle of the room. I moved around the drape in time to see the little girl finish her drawing. It was the sun. I looked at her sunken, pale face and bright eyes.

A calmness fully doused the fire as my instinct kicked in.

I knew what I had to do. I let out a sigh, taking in this new information that flooded me at once. It overwhelmed me, I grew dizzy. She looked up at me then. I was frozen in place until I realized there was someone behind me.

“Mommy!” her little voice shouted. I was shocked by the purity of the sound. I sank back into the darkness while her mom pulled up a chair, a book in her lap.

She had just finished reading to her daughter when the machines went off. They startled me before I moved from the shadows, took my place by her side, and waited, aware of what the others were not. The girl wasn’t going to make it this time. The moment would arrive all too soon. Her green eyes met mine, a smile spread wide, and her tiny fingers reached for my hand. She could see me.

Someone could finally see me. I bent over the bed as her last breath was making its escape, and I trapped it between us. The serenity of an innocent soul filled me. I felt her trust and faith, her little joys and little sorrows. It didn’t last long. I soon left the small room, and her weeping mother, behind.

The woman’s grief was not mine to share.