They Ask a lot of things.

Everyone has an opinion on how you should do your job. And when dealing with the grieving, it was never truer. You cannot tell them no, without crushing them. Being a guide is an important and rewarding job, and honestly, not that hard. Dealing with the families, though, is so much more difficult than dealing with the passed. I run risks, as I think all guides do. 

I never imagined myself becoming a guide when I was younger. I was always pretty good at coding and worked in college to create a solid portfolio. That was all before I found out I had the gift. One in 300 kids is born with the gift, and I was so “lucky” to be that one.

The day I discovered my talent was when my grandmother passed away. She had lived a full life, and as far as we knew, completed all she needed to. I showed up at her house after class one day, and there she was, peacefully in her chair, watching old reruns of Doctor Who.

My heart clenched. My grandmother Caroline was an incredible woman—kind, positive, and the funniest person I knew. She had been an elementary school teacher for over 45 years and made a bigger difference in society than most people could ever dream of. About once a week, we would meet up for dinner, and the day I found her was supposed to be one of those nights. I called the rest of the family so we could decide what to do.

That’s when I heard her voice echo around the house.

“It’s time to go, Katy. Our reservation won’t last forever,” Caroline said, her tone laced with impatience.

Turning around, I saw my grandmother’s ghostly form standing near the door, tapping her foot.

I’ll admit, that was the moment when all my aspirations and plans went out the window. A new path opened for me, and, damn it, I had to walk it.

That leads us to today, where I sat in the dining room of a family I had just met. Tears filled the eyes of everyone around me: three small children and a teenager. We sat in silence, soft sobs breaking the stillness.

A tall man stepped out of the bedroom and into the main area. His eyes were bloodshot, and he looked like he might break at any moment. He gestured for me to come closer.

As I crossed the room, my shoes echoed on the tile floor. One of the children, a boy no older than six, grabbed my leg. He looked up at me and whispered, “Please tell my mom I love her, one last time.”

I stood frozen for a moment before nodding. Deep inside, I knew it was the wrong choice. Performing the requests of the living on the passed could damn the soul. But the look in his eyes was too much.

When I entered the room, I saw a pale woman lying on the bed. Her chestnut-brown hair was pulled into a bun, and her slightly open eyes stared at nothing. Medical machinery was against the wall, telling me this woman was very sick for a long time. Hopefully if it was hurting, she can’t feel it now, as she wasn’t breathing. Her husband walked past me, took her hand in his, and sat down beside her.

“You don’t mind me being here, right? You don’t mind me watching? We’ve been through everything together; this shouldn’t be any different,” he said softly, never looking away from her.

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I nodded, set my backpack down, and waited. Moments like these can be hard for the passed. Giving them time after their final breath is important.

No sooner had I thought that than an image appeared to the right of the bed—a woman in a sundress, staring at her body. Her form was mostly human looking, with a slight shimmer. It was like looking into a mirage, as the image danced from side to side while maintaining its appearance.

Her husband didn’t look up. He couldn’t see her. That’s the thing about being a guide—we can see and interact with the passed, but no one else can. Interestingly, the Passed cannot see or interact with the still living. 

The spirit of the woman moved to the bed and gently closed her body’s eyes. Then she turned to me.

“This isn’t so bad, you know?” she said, her voice tinged with sadness.

“Your children wanted you to know, one last time, that they love you,” I said.

Her ethereal hands reached up towards the pictures hung on the wall. Her hands lingered, caressing the shapes of her kids in the images. At my words, her head turned sharply toward me. Her eyes filled with love as she stared at me, but her face was set, and determined.

“She’s here?” her husband asked, tears spilling from his eyes. “Please, tell her I love her. And… tell Cass she can have the last slice.”

Cass, I thought. So that’s her name.

The spirit sat down beside me, her gaze drifting to her body. “They’ll be okay without me,” she whispered. “Davin’s a great husband, and my kids are strong. This is for the best. We couldn’t afford my illness anymore. Cancer is a bitch.” Her shoulders slumped, as she remembered the past, and her sickness. 

I rested a hand on her shoulder. “Guides aren’t supposed to act as mediums, it can be dangerous if you decide to stay. We may lose you.” I said gently, “but I’ll tell them. Your husband also wanted you to know he loves you… and you can have the last slice.”

Cass laughed—a rich, bittersweet sound that echoed through the room. “That’s a good one. ‘The last slice’—it’s a joke from when Davin and I first started dating. My little sister Julie was jealous of the time I spent with him. He brought over some board games and pizza, once we were at the final piece, she told him he couldn’t have it until he said he loved me. It was a little awkward at first, as we hadn’t used a word like that with each other. Then he sword fought her for the final piece. After winning he gave it to me, and told me he loved me. Ever since, it’s a thing we say before the other goes on a trip ‘you can have the last slice’.” 

She paused, her gaze lifting to the ceiling. Then she turned to me. “You’re the guide, right?”

“I am. Are you ready to go?”

“I think I am.”

I reached into my backpack and pulled out a dreamcatcher woven with nettle fiber and jade beads. Guides use various tools and spiritual portals for journeys, but jade always felt most powerful to me. And the dreamcatcher was my grandma’s favorite thing to hang around the house. She had dozens. 

“Look into it, Cass. What do you see?” I said. 

She stared deeply into the webbing. Slowly, a sparkle lit up her eyes. “I see it. I see where I’m meant to go. Thank you, guide.”

I smiled. “Travel well, Cass. Your passing will not be forgotten.”

Her form dissolved into light, leaving the room silent except for Davin’s muffled sobs.

I approached him and placed a hand on his shoulder. “She’s well, Davin. And she loves you. She has made it. The cremation team should be here in a minute to talk with you. I will ask them to wait outside until you are ready.”

As I left the house, I passed the children and reassured them their mother was safe. Their tearful thanks echoed behind me as I walked to my car.

Next time, I told myself, I won’t risk the soul by breaking the rules. No matter how much they ask.