Not Everyone Passes On Quietly
© 1993 By Lisa Dietz
Dying did not come easy to me. Yet, in those final moments of life, alone in a dark and sterile hospital room with only a steel crucifix carelessly slung on the wall to keep me company, I found, to my surprise, that when I was given a second chance to live, I responded with hesitation.
The physical illness had started a year earlier. The sudden onset of stabbing abdominal pain immediately propelled me into the doctor's office. But because I had struggled with long term depression, I suffered for months before any tests were performed. I had been diagnosed with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder after years of abuse from my father. Once labeled with a psychological disability, the doctor seemed to equate the trauma to my psyche with a feeble mind. It was not that he thought that the pain wasn't real, because he prescribed pain killers over and over again. However, his delay in pursuing a physical cause for my pain did irrevocable damage.
After nine months of illness, I found myself getting weaker. I could not hold down food, though I felt famished with hunger. I had lost over a hundred pounds. When I finally collapsed, it was from malnutrition. My colon had stopped working, my nervous system was shutting down, my muscles had completely atrophied and when the paramedics took me into the hospital, there was no protein left in my body.
Ulcerative colitis is not usually so deadly. However, specialists were unable to diagnose the affliction until it had progressed beyond the bounds of hope.
For three days, I felt nothing but fear. I know I tried to pray, I tried to understand why this was happening to me. But a darkness had engulfed my mind. Visitors and nurses moved in and out of my room like shadows fading across the walls. What was clearest in my mind was my past. Vivid memories assailed me and I found it frightening because I had a sense that I was making a final peace before the end. I would experience different periods of my life, some difficult, some pleasant and then I would step into the most intense emotion from that period, feel it, then in a detached way, let go of it. It was all so final.
On the third day, lying in bed, I suddenly had the sensation of gently falling. I see a light that grows in intensity and brightness, but I cannot tell if I am moving toward it or if it is moving toward me. Then the light divides in two, opening a gateway. Once the gate is open, I step inside.
There are many formless shapes that are bright and resemble three-dimensional energized light-beings. I recognize these beings as people who have died. Although there are not faces with these lights, it is the very essence of individuals that I experience. I am aware of a general feeling of goodwill that they have toward me. Behind me is an enormous light that I know is the Lord.
I am told that I am dying and it is okay for me to die. I feel very peaceful, warm and loved. The people around me are soft, in the way that the world beneath the sea is soft so that many things, though separate, seem to fade into one another. As a fish might nonchalantly blend into a reef bed, I merge into my surroundings, becoming one emotionally. I am overwhelmed by a sense of well-being. I begin to think it is okay to die.
As I float and observe, an angel of light comes to my side to guide and instruct me. I learn about suffering. I understand that God does not cause us to suffer, yet suffer we do. I am shown that our suffering does not go unnoticed and can bring us to a greater spiritual understanding.
The angel is also teaching me about giving. Giving has to do with pursuing and expressing that which God has given to each person and each to their measure. All people are given gifts and potential. There is great rejoicing when that potential is realized. It is important that each person give of their talents to the best of their abilities, showing a willingness to give and then act on that willingness. Some people are able to best give by ministering to their children, which I am told is very important.
I understand these things in an instant. I feel myself being gently led from one lesson to another. I am never caught up in a sense of dying however. Rather, I feel interested in what I am being taught, I feel drawn to the light in a loving and peaceful way.
I am guided toward a dull glow and observe that below me is a city that looks like a junkyard wasteland. There are half-built stone houses carelessly constructed on heaps of garbage. The people in the city flit among the shadows, hiding. There is a loud noise, like waling babies, but the voices are mature. I feel disturbed and curious.
I begin to make my way through this city and I notice that what I had earlier mistaken for garbage, is instead carelessly discarded treasures. There are beautiful pieces of artwork, tapestries, sculptures, endless ornamentation. There is no respect for these treasures. They are broken, scattered and trampled on. My angel points to one of the discarded items and I see that it is a notebook. I pick it up and to my horror, discover that it is a story that I wrote a long time ago. Then I see other notebooks scattered about and hunt fervently to recover my writing. They are all in my handwriting, but some are stories that I don't recognize. I look up to my angel for help. But the angel is sad. I feel a deep sense of regret. I realize that I have always known that writing had been a gift, but I struggled to find the time.
Then I see that there are people who are moving aimlessly and listlessly in circles around the outskirts of the junkyard city. I walk with them and find that they are consumed with negative emotions such as hatred or fear or anger. I am struck by the intensity of their emotion, but even more so, I am moved by the fact that I can understand them so well. I am given a knowledge that many of the people moving through the shadows became obsessed with these negative feelings because they were victims of other people, just as I had been a victim of my father. My angel tells me that although the path to such emotions may be understandable, ultimately it only serves to cause separation from God. For a moment, I have a glimpse of the true heart of the angel, who is filled with utter sadness for the people around us.
Turning away, I see a huge light of love and hope and joy coming towards the people in the city, shining on them, inviting them into union with God. I have a sense of hope and expectancy as the light reaches the city. But everyone seems too consumed with pain to be able to break free and choose the light.
The light moves on and so do I. I am being lifted out of the junkyard city. My angel is taking me towards a window, hanging in the midst of darkness. I look into the window and am startled because I see myself. I am in a panelled room, sitting at a wooden desk and there is sunlight streaming in from another window, across from me. I am writing intently. I want to ask my angel what I am writing about, but in the same way that a page is turned in a photo album, to reveal family history, the picture in the window changes. I see myself standing on a large porch that encircles an old gray barn. The building, I know intuitively, is a shelter for women. I feel like I belong here. The view from the porch is that of a very ominous sunset. I am waiting for something important to happen.
I don't recognize the places I have seen through the window, but I have a sense that they reveal an alternate future. There are so many questions in my mind and I turn to my angel, but I feel the comfort of the angel moving away from me.
The window is now gone, and it is with a sense of panic that I see the lights of the gate again and realize that I have to make a choice. The decision is mine whether to return to my life and possibly find a new freedom by using the gifts I have been given, or to possibly continue with the suffering to which I had been accustomed. And death, at this point seems very peaceful. It is difficult to make a choice so quickly since there has been absolute freedom from judgement in all the things I have seen. The gate is closing. The choice must be made.
I never got a sense of having made a decision. The next thing I remembered, it was the next day. I felt a kind of transformation in that moment that would only increase each day of my life thereafter. For instance, my colon began to work again. Feeling returned to my body. Though I have had to be careful about my diet and exercise, my muscles returned to full use. The memory of my illness and the abuse in my life became a vague recollection, like it was someone else's story stored in my mind. The depression lifted all together and was replaced with a positive outlook. And I was filled with a desire to write.
What I had the most trouble with was talking about this experience. I remembered it and would tell people that I had a vision while I was in the hospital, but it was so hard to describe in detail. Even as I have done so here, there is much I have left out. It has been difficult to communicate it in words because it was not given to me in words. I've felt limited in what I could express.
Nevertheless, I have been thankful. I guess I just couldn't bring myself to slip silently away.