I sit here in shock for what feels like an eternity. I can’t form a sentence and simply stare into my dad’s gentle face. He has the same caring eyes and teasing grin I remember. Finally, I ask, “Am I dead?”

Dad cradles me in his arms and chuckles, “Well, that depends upon how you define death.”

I extricate myself from his embrace, and he softly explains, “Technically, every living thing on Earth is dead. However, I disconnected from the lost souls on Earth before the solar mass struck. So, you never experienced those final, terrifying moments.

“I’ve recreated your physical body and linked it to my copy of your mind. Your physical form is identical to your prior body, although it’s not the same atoms. For all intents and purposes, you are alive and unchanged.”

I whisper, “Is everyone out?”

He laughs and replies, “Of course, sweetheart. The essence of every reasonably-intelligent creature that ever lived, up to a few minutes before the solar mass struck, is here. That includes your annoying cat who never liked me.

“Everyone but us is currently stored in dormant states in my brain until I can, someday, create a suitable environment where they can all live. However, there are many varied views of Heaven. And, none of them contain specifics of how a place filled with eternally-living beings from all eras should operate. For example, at what age should I reanimate people? Should they remember their deaths, or even their later years if they were suffering or had dementia? What happens when friends or family held differing views of the afterlife? As you can see, there is a lot to work out.

“In the meantime, I formed you and extracted your dad to sit with you. But I could get your grandma, George Washington, Martin Luther King, Jr., or even Queen Nzinga if you prefer. We have an eternity. You can meet them all.”

A voice from behind us disagrees, “Well, you don’t have that long, but you will have time to meet a few.”

We spin around to see Father and Mother standing behind us. Mother is crying, and Father says, “We are so happy to see you, child.”

Dad looks confused and asks me, “Who are they, and what are they doing here?”

I answer, “Well, Dad, or Earth Baby, these are our celestial parents. They’ve been guiding your development for a billion years or so.”

Mother and Father begin excitedly explaining everything to Dad (yeah, this is getting confusing), but I interrupt to ask whether we could continue this conversation elsewhere. Sitting on a bench floating in space is disconcerting, and staring at the smoldering ember that had recently been our lovely blue and green planet is depressing.

Without hesitation, one of them whisks us back into a recreation of the Chez Juan lounge. I must be getting used to these transitions because I don’t feel at all nauseous. Of course, I suppose that I am dead.

Jake joins us and suggests a round of Bloody Marys to kick off our first day in Heaven. I start to decline because it’s late and I have school tomorrow. Then I remember that the world has ended and request a glass with extra hot sauce while making a comment about never having to take an IT class ever again.

Jake grimaces and notes, “Lucky you. The world ended less than an hour ago, and I’m already back at work.”

I decide to help him out with the drinks, and soon we’re all sitting around chatting about recent events.

Dad says, “For the past several days, I kept thinking these terrible thoughts and looking for their meaning. While the greatest minds that had ever lived agreed that those images depicted the Earth’s destruction, no one knew what to do about it.

“Then, you delivered your wake-up message, and it all made sense. I woke up, uncoiled from the planet, and floated out into space. Oh, and let me apologize right now for belittling waitressing as a career. You rock, Jeannette!”

My cheeks are burning, and I mumble something about how I just gave the message while he, or Earth Baby, did all the work.

Jake raises his glass in a toast and says, “Here’s a toast to happily relaxing for the rest of eternity.”

Dad, Jake, and I clink glasses, but Mother and Father hold back with guilty looks.

I say, “Don’t. Just don’t say whatever you’re going to say. It’s been a long night, and we deserve a break.”

Jake, however, cheerfully says, “Hey, we just saved humanity and opened the gates of Heaven. We can handle anything. What has you worried, guys?”

I hate that guy. I’m glad he has to tend bar for eternity. I’m going to come in every night, order complicated drinks, and leave lousy tips. OK, I won’t nick him with my tipping, but still, why is he doing this?

Father sighs, “I think that Mother should handle this one. Are you up for it, dear?”

Mother squeezes his hand and begins. “You see, child, the universe is filled with tens of billions of interconnected female cosmic waves like you and me. We are the great thinkers of the universe and have existed nearly as long as the universe itself. However, almost from the start, we realized that we have a problem. Do you remember how your father explained that the universe is the three-dimensional surface of a four-dimensional globe?”

I admit that I recalled his comment but that I also didn’t quite get it and kind of filed it in my think-about-what-this-means-if-we-survive-the-apocalypse mental folder. I nod but don’t mention that I was hoping to ignore the concept for a few millennia.

Mother sighed, “There’s no time to explain it all now. Tell me, do you know about the conservation of mass and energy?”

I’m getting kind of annoyed and reply, “Just because I’m a waitress doesn’t mean I didn’t pay attention in high school. Of course, I know that there is a fixed amount of mass and energy in the universe.”

Father warns, “Don’t talk to Mother like that. She’s trying to break a highly-complex concept into understandable pieces.”

Mother pats Father’s hand and continues. “And do you know that the universe is expanding?”

I tersely reply, “Yes.”

“Excellent, then let me explain what is happening and see if you can draw the correct conclusion. The universe is expanding in all directions because it is the three-dimensional surface of a four-dimensional bubble growing in size. What happens to the thickness of a bubble’s surface as that bubble inflates?”

“It gets thinner.”

“And, what happens if the bubble grows too large?”

“It pops.”

“Precisely. We realized that our universe was expanding and becoming too thin, so we focused our collective minds on preventing it from popping. The problem is that the expansion is happening in the fourth dimension, which we can’t impact. So, we did the only thing we could. We began patching the vulnerable parts of our thinning universe.

“We found a way to generate dark matter without violating the laws of physics. My peers now spend most of their efforts filling thin regions of space with dark matter rather than pursuing great thoughts. It’s a losing battle, but those fools are too stubborn to see the alternative approach we must pursue.”

Jake, of course, was the one to ask the obvious question, “Which is?”

OK, Jake is inching his way back to my good side.

“Which is that we need to permit the universe to explode. And, I fear that we will lose everything if we prevent it from taking its natural course for too long.”

Father says, “That was the opinion that got her expelled from the collective.”

I grumble, “Along with letting her daughter, Venus, die in a failed experiment.”

Dad interrupts, “Wait! I had a sister who died? What happened? What kind of experiment?”

I shush him and say, “Go look up my memories from last night.”

Dad becomes silent as Father continues, “And you, your sister, and your mother’s theories are all intertwined. You see, your older sister died because we let her develop for too long. Her brain cells exceeded her maximum capacity, and she just shut down.”

Everything suddenly came into focus for me when he said that.

I advance, “And, you think that our universe is a fetus like Mars, Venus, and Earth. You, the cosmic beings we considered God, are nothing more than interconnected brain cells for a much larger entity waiting to be born.”

“Yes!” Father exclaims. “Yes, you see, we believe that there is a God, and probably a Mrs. God, who are the parents of our universe. All the connected, sentient, cosmic strings in the universe combine to become their baby. We think that letting the universe pop, so to speak, will allow us to be born.”

I counter, “And you’re afraid that we’ll die if we keep artificially sustaining the universe.”

Father cheers, “Precisely! Now, explain to me how a human being, who didn’t know any of this eight hours ago, can comprehend the concept while beings billions of years old can’t accept the idea?”

Dad is back from perusing my memories and makes an observation. “But, there’s more at stake here than just getting women to stop propping up the universe. You’re as afraid of it popping as they are.”

Mother and Father look at each other, and Mother agrees. “Yes, you are right. Venus painfully taught us that our offspring die when we do not induce birth. However, we also know that the memories and personalities used to construct the structures in a child’s brain are erased during induction.”

I say, “And, you’re afraid that all your memories, learning, and personalities will be wiped out when the universe ends.”

I didn’t even ask it as a question. It was a simple statement, which did not require verification. The creatures we considered to be gods are just as scared of being erased from existence as I was a few hours back.

Dad whispers, “Which is why you were so desperate for me to awaken before Mother’s coronal mass ejection hit. You wanted to prove that collective memories remain intact for non-induced births.”

Mother smiles and says, “Yes, but it is so much more than that. We need both of you. Jeanette found a way to awaken you, our baby, and you responded. We need both of you to convince the collective that they must work together to emerge as a new, four-dimensional being instead of continuing to patch up the universe.”

I stare at Dad, and he stares at me with mutual disbelief. I almost laugh because I realize he isn’t only my father. I’m looking at the cause and culmination of all life on our planet. And that being is feeling every bit as overwhelmed as me. I even have the advantage of having gone through this once before.

I say, “And I suppose that you two can’t help us, either.”

Mother answers, “No, men cannot join the collective, and I am eternally banned. You, however, are welcome to join. You are our only hope of convincing the collective of the need to awaken and of teaching them how to make it happen.”

“I assume that you can’t explain how to do that, either.”

“No more than we were able to guide you in your birth. My only advice is to find a pair of stars, set up your resonating wave, and join the collective. Beyond that, you are on your own.”

At that moment, an unfamiliar voice matter-of-factly states, “That won’t work.”