There are many theories as to what happens after death. Some believe the afterlife you experience depends on the morality of your life. Some believe the soul will live on forever, while the body becomes one with the Earth. Some believe there isn’t any kind of afterlife at all. Despite this, nobody ever knows what will happen to them after death. Some claim to have experienced near-death, seeing their bodies from outside of them, changing the entire course of their existence. The scariest part of death isn’t death itself. It’s the uncertainty of what comes afterwards.

After glioblastoma diagnosis, it’s very rare to survive more than a year and a half. Less than two percent of people survive five-years, which is a very discouraging statistic. There are stories of people who have lived for years or even decades after a diagnosis. Nothing is impossible, despite the rarity of things like this. As a child, Juno believed in miracles, despite never witnessing one in person. Her mother would say such things were an act of God. There’s no proof of a higher power. It’s easy to believe in something you’ve never seen.

It’s noisy, and very cold. There’s something in the back of Juno’s hand, which pinches her skin. Something beeps steadily, ringing through her ears and head. It doesn’t sound like her bedroom, and the bed is too hard to be hers. Death doesn’t hurt. A whole lifetime can pass by without you even noticing.

Juno’s head hurts. This is nothing new.

A figure stands against the wall, brown and fuzzy. Juno wants to speak, but no sound comes out of her mouth, and none of her body will move. Everything feels heavy: like being trapped under a sack of bricks. Juno was visiting her parents. Her room is cold and plain white, smelling of isopropyl and latex.

“She’s awake!”

Someone speaks in a language Juno doesn’t understand. When her eyes finally focus, she processes the brown-haired girl standing against a wall, and a brown-haired woman right next to her. Her eyes are heavy and dry, and don’t feel like hers. The last time Juno closed her eyes, she was taking a bubble bath.

“Am I dead?”

She speaks a language she doesn’t understand. Her voice is hoarse; it feels like she’s forgotten how to use it at all. Juno always knew there was an afterlife, filled with angels and bright lights. They’re too bright, almost. Juno’s eyes squint when she attempts to look around her. If she’s dead, why does her body feel so heavy? All of the angels are white, but none of them have wings. They’re not what Juno expected angels to look like. One stands over her, touching her arm. It feels like a solid touch. Juno wonders if angels are solid beings.

“I’d expect you to be a little confused. You’re in the hospital, Juno.”

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Nobody ever seemed to be bothered by Juno’s impending death. She was reminded all the time that it was near. She hated to be reminded. “No.” She had gone to sleep, like she’d done many times before. She had heard her mother calling her name, and seen a light above her head which seemed to go on forever. It was a very bright light. It hurt her eyes. She’d followed a long, winding tunnel that led to a wide open field, where animals grazed and families laughed. It had been a long time since Juno laughed. Her body is made of stone.

A woman sits on the end of her bed: the same brown-haired woman as before, smiling at Juno as though they know one another. There’s a popular belief that when the good die, they become angels, earning their wings through good deeds and charity. When Juno was younger, she attended Sunday School every weekend with her siblings, and even briefly aspired to be a nun. She isn’t sure anymore how she feels about religion. It brings people comfort, sure, and purpose. There are many ways to find this outside of religion.

“You’ve been asleep for nearly five months. Nobody expected you to wake up.”

There’s beeping from the hall, and from the machines next to the bed. It’s very hard to speak. Juno’s tongue has never been so heavy. Another nurse joins the first at her bedside, fiddling with machines and touching Juno’s needles. She misses her mother, and her friends, and the sounds of birds chirping in the trees.

“Where am I?”

During Juno’s first brain surgery, nearly three quarters of her tumor was removed. This seemed like a lot at the time, but it left a lot of room for things to get worse. She was told that attempting to remove more could result in brain damage, because of the precarious location of the tumor. Juno’s not a doctor. She believes whatever she’s told. She had many tests done leading up to her diagnosis, and spent many nights in the hospital after it. It was always uncertain how much time she’d spend at home after being discharged. Life can change quickly, and unexpected things come out of nowhere.

Brain surgery is a serious matter. There can be lifelong side effects, or damage to the brain. Juno’s head spins. After her surgery, there was a recurrence.

Everything is white. Juno can’t remember what she was last doing, or when her birthday is. Her head pounds, and the lights above her head pull open her skin. Everybody dies. Some people get to live more than once. “This is your hospital room.” They aren’t angels. They’re nurses: poking and prodding and paging one another. Juno wonders where her parents are. There’s a vase of flowers on a table next to her bed, and a photo on the wall.

It’s hard to speak much louder than a whisper. Juno wonders if she’s saying anything at all. “Where’s my mom?” Juno enjoyed living with her parents. She doesn’t remember when she left. Her mother always sends her to bed with a bottle of water, in case she gets thirsty at night. Juno’s afraid of the dark. She has been since childhood. She sometimes sneaks into her parents’ bed after a scary dream - but she’s getting bigger now, and soon there won’t be enough space for her to share. She has no recollection of getting sick. It must have happened. She was riding her bike, and baking muffins, and learning how to drive. Life passes by so quickly. Maybe Juno has lived lives before.

Nobody speaks to her. It’s as if she’s vanished, swallowed somehow through a portal in the sky. Even though Juno remembers opening her mouth, it’s possible she hasn’t made any noise at all.