What Would Jesus...

My love,

I said I would send you emails so that, if you come back one day, you’ll be able to catch up on everything you’ve missed. So here I am, as promised.

Well, it’s been a week since you left me and what a strange week it’s been. Who would have thought that you and I, two simple souls from Yorkshire, would make the international news. Our story is everywhere. Reactions have been mixed, as you would expect. Some reports are supportive, mostly scientists and cryonics enthusiasts. Others are damning – they are calling us ghoulish, creepy, even arrogant for thinking that we could cheat death. Lots of journalists have been calling and emailing me, asking if I really think my wife will come back to life one day. I tell them it’s more likely than if she was buried 6 feet under the ground.

Your parents still won’t speak to me. It’s only been a week though, so I know I need to give them time. Julie says they’ve been going to church a lot, even more than usual. They don’t seem to see the irony of worshipping Jesus, a man who rose from the dead, while condemning their daughter for seeking to do the same thing. I’ll keep trying with them, though. I know you would want that.

I can’t stop thinking about your frozen body in that cylinder in Arizona. Sorry, I shouldn’t say frozen, they told us that’s not the right word didn’t they. Vitrified. Suspended in liquid, suspended in time, waiting for science to find a way to – what was the word they used – reanimate you.

I wonder what the world will be like if, when, you come back. Will it be in 100 years, 200, 1000? It certainly won’t be two days like Jesus, much as I wish it could be. Will the world be run by robots by that time? Will humans look the same as they do today? Will there even be humans, or just brains uploaded to computers?

I miss you so much already. The house seems empty, bleak, without you. There are split seconds when I forget, when I instinctively go to call your name, or reach across the bed for you. Then I remember and the realization punches me in the stomach. I keep looking ahead at the rest of my life, an endless path disappearing over the horizon, wondering how I am going to walk it alone. It’s only been a week. I have so many weeks ahead of me without you.

I’m going to start saving so that I can afford to be vitrified (there, I remembered the word) when I die too. Then maybe one day, many years from now, we will wake up together in a different world and I will be able to hold your hand again, and kiss you, and put my arms around you.

Must go now, there are some things I need to sort out for your memorial service on Friday. I will write again soon.

I love you my darling. Sleep well.

xxx