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(<a href=”http://www.publicdomainpictures.net/view-image.php?image=13663&picture=angel-picture”>Angel
Picture</a> by sabine Sauermaul)
I believe that each one of us able to wake up to a new morning, no matter how miserable we might feel about our own life, must somehow find a way to practice death-defying acts by making a recommitment to living every single day.
I believe in taking pride in the ability to be a survivor and more, no matter how difficult it has been to earn this label. It can be a deep struggle for some people, to claim the right to live on in the best way they possibly can, and to doing so when they are in physical or emotional pain, or when others they care for are suffering. When our hearts are tender, we may ache terribly on observing or hearing about the affliction and misfortune present in the world. If we try to find answers and reasons why awful things happen, we too often spin around in a bad place of confusion and anger.
Renewing our commitment to living and cultivating gratitude for what we have is really learned behavior. It takes a lot of self-talk, determination, and repetition. It takes practice to learn not to ask a lot of impossible and unanswerable questions of the Universe. I used to do this a lot, but I never received definitive answers (or frankly, even vague ones). I may still sometimes ask such questions because I am human, or perhaps by sheer force of habit, but I try not to ask too many, because this impedes me from living my life.
I recently heard a story on an NPR program when I was in my car. National Public Radio is the only radio station I ever listen to. I caught the tail end of the show, so I missed a lot of details. Someone was talking about having suffered a serious illness or accident and ending up in a hospital. I think he was in a place very far from home. Though I missed most of the background information, I got his point. He said that the day he was flown home after this event, was also the day of the Oklahoma City bombing in the US, of the Alfred P. Murrah Federal Building, on April 19, 1995. After his own brush with death, people he knew often commented that he was saved for a reason, that God had spared his life, etc. He said he had, and still has, a difficult time believing that he was spared for some Divine reason, but that all of the people who perished in Oklahoma City, including innocent little kids, were not singled out for survival. His opinion is that dumb luck was what caused him to make it.
I doubt that I will ever have any great cosmic insights, knowledge of why some people undergo pain, suffering and death, and why others are spared. I am admittedly often short on patience when I encounter those who feel they have a direct line to their Higher Power, and who are convinced that the reason they have miraculously escaped life’s cruelest jokes is because they possess a stronger and more abiding faith in God than do others.
I am someone who had a near-death experience as a 7 year old child, long before I had the information and comprehension to be able to frame it as that. I had an incredibly vivid sense/message at that time, that I was being saved for some other purpose, and I often referred to this, much to the chagrin of my parents, who found my intensity and “babbling” about this uncomfortable, as well as frightening. They were convinced that I had something wrong with me, emotionally and/or neurologically, that was a direct outcome of the serious skull fracture, brain swelling, respiratory arrest and temporary blindness I suffered as a result of the car accident I was in.
To me, what I saw and felt was amazing, and was accompanied by things I would much later read about and hear of. I remember hearing a kind of melodic, quiet humming, or chant, telling me to sleep, that I needed to stay where I was, had things to do, that there would be pain ahead of me, but I would become a survivor. It was like a voice, but not like any voice I had ever heard. It seemed to be speaking in a different language than English, though I was able to understand it. I remember not knowing what the word “survivor” meant and thinking I needed to ask my much-older sister the definition as soon as possible. I wanted to ask questions of the voice, but did not have the cognitive ability to form questions that addressed the feelings I was having. I also didn’t know if the voice I “felt” was able to hear me. I was afraid to sleep because I didn’t know if I would wake up, or where I would be. I was surrounded by a strange brightness and felt that I was both in my body and outside of it. The humming grew softer and I tried to fight sleep, but was lulled into it. As I fell asleep, the sound seemed to swirl around me and finally left.
I awoke in what I later learned was an oxygen tent, with my parents, sister and brother tearfully peering at me.
This has always remained with me, sometimes even when things have been extraordinarily difficult and when I, at times, even briefly wanted to let go of the life I had. It was not the only time I felt or “received” an eerie type of message. While the second time was not accompanied by any light or sense of peace, and was in fact, in the midst of a terrifying situation, I once again felt or heard voices telling me that I needed to quickly preserve my own life because my children would be orphans if I did not, and, that I needed to exit our house immediately to seek help. I had already gotten our four-year-old son out safely after instructing him with every inch of reason and sternness I could muster, to go directly to a neighbor’s house and to stay there till I joined him. .
Thus,confused and disoriented, I fled the burning home in which my first husband, who was disabled, was trapped when, after my fruitless efforts, I was unable to get him out. He died about an hour later at the hospital, after being extricated by local firefighters. I couldn’t talk easily about those final moments for a very long time, but I definitely knew I had felt some type of presence and “heard” voices surrounding me.
That did not prevent me from struggling for years with survivor’s guilt, juxtaposed confusedly with those memories of what always seemed to me to be a kind of message from someplace I did not know or comprehend.
These two occurrences have left their mark on me for sure, and also opened me up to acknowledging that there is much mystery out there not usually experienced by everyone, and that is beyond our human minds. Still, I have particular distaste, as mentioned above, when people try to rationalize the irrational and when they arrive at answers that elevate their own importance over the lives and fortunes of others.
I have decided that while I am still breathing, still continuing to defy death by opening my eyes when a new sun rises, I must do what I can to make life worthwhile. I am a small speck on the planet. Sometimes I do a great job at whatever I undertake and sometimes I am ineffectual and miserable at things I try, but that’s ok. I think I am here for a reason, but I can’t say that I know just what it is, or that I ever will.
How about you? Have you had a brush with death? Have you sought answers and explanations, and did you find them? What’s your own take on all of this? What have your own trials taught you about living your life?
Coach Iris is a Life Stage, Family, Relationship Changes Certified Professional Coach. Your comments here are sought and welcomed.
Please visit https://visionpoweredcoaching.com and
http://coachiris.com to learn more.
