The Light | East Wenatchee, WA | 2013
My heart stopped for several minutes following a heart attack in 2004. People have often asked me if I moved toward the light or felt the Divine or was welcomed to heaven by smiling ancestors. But no, none of that. It was more of a comforting darkness that moved through me, a sensory veil descending across my vision, then throughout my muscles, and lastly around my hearing. People talking with extreme urgency was the last thing I remembered before being enfolded in dark. When I woke up the next day (stents installed), my overriding impression was that I’d left something behind. You know … that realization that you forgot your jacket at the office or your credit card at the restaurant. Something wasn’t with me, and I didn’t know what it was. Nearly 14 years later, I still haven’t figured it out. I occasionally pat my pockets and sift through memories in search of that missing something that hasn’t yet been identified, much less found. It’s still back there in the dark.