Brushes with death
It’s been just about a long time since my brush with death, however its memory is pretty much as distinctive as though it happened yesterday. Minutes that shock you to your very center are difficult to neglect. I guess that is one of their advantages. It’s protected to say that almost passing on fundamentally altered my life and for that I’ll be ever appreciative.
I’d got what I thought was a virus. It moved into my chest and didn’t clear up. I worked as ordinarily as possible. In the end, I became confined to bed thus feeble that I burned through three hot days totally depleted, hacking relentless. To spare the gritty details, I had twofold pneumonia. I’d been to the specialist, however he’d misdiagnosed me as having one fourth of a lung loaded up with liquid. In all actuality, I just had one fourth of a lung left, the other 3/4 being totally filled. I was choking. In spite of the fact that I ought to have conceded to the clinic, he sent me home to perceive how I’d do as the night progressed. That choice completely changed me.
I was separated from everyone else in the room, hacking, hot, frail and totally depleted. I was passing on. I lay there feeling as defenseless as I’d at any point felt. Expectation had left me and been supplanted by acquiescence. I didn’t know whether I planned to make it or not and I was unable to marshal up sufficient energy to completely mind in any case. I felt that I was simply too tired to even think about mindful. That’s when my eyes flew open and I saw the light.
I was blinded by a brilliant, white light at the foot of my bed. I could make out a silhouette standing next to the light, but couldn’t see it well. I managed to move out of the direct line of the blinding beam and was finally able to see the figure. I was surprised to see my father, dressed in a double-breasted, white suit, smiling at me. If I hadn’t been so tired, I’d have rolled my eyes at how cliché and trite it was. The death of my father, a few years earlier, had torn at the very fabric of my worldview and here he was, standing in front of me, but I felt nothing. I didn’t feel glad to see him, nor any emotion at all, other than surprise. This fact led me to the conclusion that it wasn’t him.
I managed to ask, “Dad?” The image by the white light shook its head in the negative and said, “No, I’m not your father, but I’m here in his form because that’s what you expected.”
The white light had now become a doorway, behind which was an escalator that rose into a brilliant background. The entity told me that he’d come because I was very ill. He explained how easy it would be for me to join him; all I’d have to do would be to get up and go to him. I doubted this, because I was so weak, but I found that I could sit up easily and knew that all I had to do was jump out of bed and get on the escalator. It would be the easiest thing that I’d ever done. He held out his hand and smiled so sweetly, that I almost did it.
I asked him if I had to go with him. He replied that I could stay if I wanted, but I had a long road of recovery ahead of me and that it wouldn’t be easy. He asked if I really wanted to stay and I replied that my children needed me and that I had a feeling that there was something I was supposed to do for the world, something important. He smiled again and kindly told me that my children would be just fine