Sometimes, I wish Heaven had a Visitors Center. If we could close our eyes and somehow transport up through the clouds. Next to the iconic pearly gates would be a smaller gate with a sign above it labeled, “VISITORS”. I’d start to walk through, passing by an attendant who stamps my hand with a smiley face inked stamp. As I make my way through the wall-less room, I see the residents in regular clothing because that is how their loved ones last remembered them. I am first greeted by my grandparents. My grandpa, with his salt & pepper thinning short hair, wearing his usual plaid button down shirt complete with his glasses case in his front pocket. Wearing dark gray slacks. My grandma with her short curly white hair, wearing a collared white ¼ button down top and navy blue pants. As I hug them both and just stare at them in disbelief, I catch a glimpse in the corner of my eye of another familiar face. I turn to see my friend Elaine with her dirty-blonde short hair and designer clothing staring at me, about to cry. I start to run with my arms wide open and our bodies meet in embrace. As we start to talk about the moments we’ve missed, a little boy, about 2 years old with dark brown hair, runs in between us, carrying what looks like a weather machine. He is laughing like he’s proud of it. “Timmy!” I call out to my Godson. The little boy turns to me and runs in my arms, wrapping his arms around my neck as I stand up.
After a few hours of visiting with other family and friends, there is a bell that sound, signaling the end of visiting hours. I hug each of my loved ones before following the other guests back through the visitor’s gate.