How many times have you died in this life? How many times have you been told that you have too much to do before your time? The first time I died was when I was six and that was the happiest memory of my life. The world was white and warm filled with peace and joy; I begged to stay but was told that I had too much to do. My first task was to help as many as I could cross the gap between the two worlds. In which I spent the next years doing and each time I begged to stay with no avail. I began trying other ways to go home but no matter how hard I tried they always failed.

There came a time when I continued to push and force my way home and the light and voices became annoyed and reluctant. They told me that I was one of the chosen guides, that I was needed to fulfill a special destiny. My heart sank, for I knew that that was a way of saying that I was to remain here until they decided that I was ready to go.

Their way to reassure that I would stop my attempts was to show me milestones that I must accomplish, work that must be done. It was hard for me to accept that a higher power was in charge of my life or that my life was already written out for me, but there it was. Over the nest few years I saw all of the things that I had to accomplish and all of the things that must be done before I would be allowed to return home. They even stopped letting me visit, they must have known that with every visit it became harder and harder for me to return.

Even though I knew that lives relied on me and that even though I was only fourteen, I had a destiny that required my life to remain here I still wanted to go home. I made attempts to return but fewer and farther apart. I tried to accept that there was a power that was stronger and wiser than me, but it is still hard. I have even given that they must be right and that if I wish to return home I must first take the steps that they had stet for me and thus continue to my goal of one day returning home.