Someone Always Comes ~

In the movie, Passengers, one of the main characters says something to the effect, "Someone or something always comes to help you, to make it easier." And the movie comes together, and you realize what the plot is, what the message is.

I was expecting a suspenseful thriller; what I wasn't expecting was this feeling I am experiencing right now. At this moment. Nauseated, but thrilled. Wanting to slip back into those 'zones' I found comforting after the accident, and during recovery, yet almost afraid to go back there and remember.

John is sitting not four feet from me, yet my mind is wanting to take me worlds from here. And the thoughts crowding my mind, my memory, are coming too fast for my fingers to type. I want to capture what I am feeling. I want to know that there is someone out there that experienced what I experienced. I want to know that there are others like me, that crossed over and came back. I want to know I am not alone. I want to know, are we alive?

You have no idea. You have no idea how it feels to be there and then to be sent back. To come back and wonder if everything is real. Or is this still a dream? Is this bits and pieces of life as you knew it? To think that what I know as life now is only a fragment of what the movie The Matrix was based upon.

There are times my mind screams for validation that I am alive, that I did not remain dead that April day. It was such a beautiful day, my memories of our trip to Birmingham are so clear and bright. Turning to look at Johnny, thinking how handsome he was and how good life was.

Remembering seeing Tim Buck walk toward us with flowers and thinking that I barely knew him, that I had only gotten his daughter on my class roll, yet he cared enough to be there. To come as we waited for my name to be called. My name. It was called.

It was called and I walked through the door, following the nurse. Changing into a gown with that hideous opening in the back. Getting up onto the table, and telling her the IV didn't hurt as she apologized for the prick. Then telling her I wasn't feeling as sleepy as I knew I should, watching her as she brought another syringe up to the IV and touching my hair as I heard her say, "Nighty night, Mrs. Hood".

And I open my eyes. And I know, I am not alive. To know, I am dead. And there is someone on my right. Now I wish I had looked to see who, what was there. Was it someone I would have known? I don't think so. I can almost assure myself it was a heavenly being. A messenger.

"Someone comes to make it easier, to help us find our way." Who was there for me?

John is sitting over there talking and talking and I get the feeling he is trying to include me in his day. All I want to do at this moment, at this time, is get lost in what happened then. And I wish Greg was here for me to talk to, to share with.

I can't share with John. Not like I can with Greg. Greg. Such a blessing in the form of a Christian counselor. Trained in helping those of us with Post Traumatic Stress Disorder. PTSD. A fancy name for the mind not being able to handle what was, what might have been, and what actually is.

John doesn't like to remember that time. It hurts him to hear my pain, my fears, my questions. Basically, I keep them to myself. But I have to tell you, there are still times, even after three years, that I wonder if this is all real. If I am existing on a separate plane in life from reality.

Why does talking of death make so many people uncomfortable? I love telling what I saw, what I felt, what I know is there. I have read since the accident, when looking for answers, that severe traumatic experiences heighten one's sensitivity to life. Extrasensory perception. Maybe it just heightens us to what is already in front of us, what is just waiting to be felt, to be known. If we would just take the time to be a child again and notice.

I know this. Life is far shorter than we realize. He tells us it is but a vapor. It is no more than the breeze on your face. And there are those around, angels if you will, that are ever present. Right now they are having a difficult time comforting me because I have wrapped myself in the memories of that time in order to capture what I am feeling. Because I want to remember. There are things I want to remember, that I still feel my mind is shutting out. What is still there to recall?

Why the need to write this down? Why did I grab the laptop as soon as the movie was over? I would like to think that there is someone that will read this and not be afraid to leave me a comment. Or leave an email. Saying they have been there. They saw what I saw, and they are still dealing with living today and having the memories of the event that took them to Paradise.

I have learned many things since that April day ~ a few major ones would be that even death cannot heal family issues when lies still prevail; our nightmares are just that, nightmares, and life has its equal moments of light and happiness; and that we do not cross over alone. There is someone, something that comes to make the way easier.

Watch for His angels. Watch for those things you can't explain. Look into the eyes of those you pass. I promise you, when they look at you and smile, you'll know when you've been in the presence of angels. And yes, they can look just as human as you and me. Sometimes my whole being overflows with things I feel the need to say, to share, but then I realize it's a bit overwhelming. A bit to much for some, for most, to comprehend and understand.

I can tell when you are uncomfortable when I speak of these things. You begin to fidget, to glance away. You reach out with your hand to shush me, to quiet me. You tell me you're sorry. It's like trying to quell a bubbling brook.

I'm afraid to scroll back through this and see how long it is. What I have typed. What I have shared. I want to hit the 'publish' button and have this out there. For all to read. And just maybe, someone will be there. Someone like me, that feels as if you have a foot in both worlds. What is, and what will be. Just maybe, there's someone.

Are you out there?