"The Afterlife of Near Death"

I, like the rest of the world, was in awe, last Thursday when all 155 passengers on US Air Flight 1549 survived their winter dip into the Hudson. Governor Patterson (NY) referred to their survival as “Miracle on the Hudson” - very apropos. There have been an abundance of articles since then. One that struck me in particular was in the Sunday Times. “The Afterlife of Near-Death. ” Benedict Carey used the tale of Flight 1549 to expand on the lasting impact of a near death experiences.

Carey described two reactions. “There’s a host of people who speak about being horrified, traumatized, who talk about a distortion in time afterwards, almost as though the accident or experience happened moments ago… some sink into despair, struggling with jagged images of their near-extinction.”

A second group of survivors have a very different reaction. These are the people who walk away with“a new sense of living and vitality — they’re very grateful, and feel blessed to have survived.” This group reports being left with “a sense of meaning and purpose in the traumatic experience and in life in general that buffers long-term emotional distress.”

I could not help but interpret the article within the context of Zach & Sam. Zach and Sam had many near death experiences. The physical continuance of my life was never in question during those times; yet I felt - and continue to feel - as if my life was threatened right along with theirs. And I suppose, depending on one’s definition of life – it was. Zach and Sam, along with my daughters, are the best part of my life and part of me died when they each died.

Carey writes that survivors remember “…as though the accident or experience happened moments ago…” Flashbacks. Countless times a day memories are triggered and I can feel them. I can remember– viscerally – without effort - that space between life and death that my children occupied countless times. I can remember begging doctors, God, the stars and the air to give them one more day. I can feel the nausea, heart break and terror -as if it happened moments ago. It’s as much a physiological remembering as cognitive. There was no reference in the article to any of this - the impact of a traumatic, near death event on a mother -family - loved ones.

I can also feel the moment when it was clear that at least one more day had been granted, and then another and another. That memory, too, is visceral. There was always such great relief - joy -and hope. Zach and Sam’s lives might be finite but at least, for that moment, the end had not come. There were smiles and hugs and a return to joking and laughter. The darkened rooms in the hospital or at home were filled with radiating light whenever Zach or Sam got better. Of course, better was always relative. They were often still considered critically ill. Even so, better is better -and I felt thankful for better -thankful that we could get back to living.

Back to living but disconcerted and thrown off balance by the rapidity of the transformation between day and night, joy and despair, the expectation of promise and the feeling of ominous. The world can spin out of control in the blink of an eye. One moment reading to a child and the next watching him fight for his life. Plans for what we’d do tomorrow erased an hour later by a code team’s effort to give him tomorrow.

For a time my emotions and thoughts were miles behind their survival - a mismatched response to a wondrous recovery. For a time I felt an overwhelming vulnerability. Clearly my effort to sandbag the riverbank had not prevented the waters from rising -flooding all that was. That realization always felt new – no matter how many times it hit me. It always left me a bit shell shocked -for a time.

Eventually the earth settled beneath my feet but life was never the same. Life can change in a moment. Everyone “knows” that but knowing that someone else’s life changed in a moment is not the same as experiencing it -and it is the experience that brings insight. How tenuous life is.

Acumen marks a person who had a “near death experience” from one who did not. And that comprehension – reinforced over and over again – across many years -was the context within which Zach & Sam lived. Comprehension imparts sacredness to life. The little things in life become just that…little. Insignificant. Life is at once recognized as finite and a gift. Don’t take it for granted.

Make no mistake -I’m not the virtuous, honorable type of mother who can look to God and know there was a purpose to it all. The only purpose I see is in their lives and I have come no further in my “understanding” of a child dying since the day Sam died.

Almost every night I go to bed thinking about something Bobby Kennedy said. Quoting Aeschylus to a crowd grieving Dr. MLK’s death he said:

"In our sleep,

pain which cannot forget

falls drop by drop upon the heart

until, in our own despair,

against our will, comes wisdom

through the awful grace of God."

Out of the despair of their many near death experiences came both wisdom – life is fragile -and a warning – enjoy every minute of their lives for we know not what tomorrow will bring.

I’m unsure how much Zach -and especially Sam – understood. Did they know how close to death they came? Many know the story of Sam, waking in the ICU a day after the doctor woke me at 2:00 am to say he was unsure Sam would make it if his lungs got any worse. He was not scared about being in the ICU. Rather he sat straight up and ripped his oxygen mask off. His first words were not, “I’m alive!” Rather he demanded to know “who put this foley in my penis?”

The psychologist said I should let Zach take the lead in terms of talking about illness and death. Well, Zach rarely talked about death, aside from asking if he could have my brain -in a jar – if I should die. (I’ll take it as a sign of admiration) When he rallied his first words were not, “I’m alive!” Instead he questioned “where’s my Nintendo.” and “Can I order a smoothie?” If I looked too worried he’d ask his doctor, “What’s her problem?”

That they came so close to falling off life’s precipice may or may not have been something they knew. They seemed to take illness and recovery in stride. However, there is absolutely no doubt in my mind that they comprehended that life was to be experienced. Both approached each day in anticipation of its possibility and promise.

"In our sleep, pain which cannot forget falls drop by drop upon the heart until, in our own despair, against our will, comes wisdom through the awful grace of God."

It was impossible not to be touched by both their critical, life threatening illnesses and their infectuous outlook on life. Play; eat ice cream for breakfast; don’t worry about making your bed or cleaning your room. We’ll do whatever is needed for you to go to school, take a vacation, trick or treat even if you only stay out ten minutes. Yes - have friends over; of course, we can read one more book and no I don’t mind if you get glue, sparkles, play dough and paints all over the kitchen.

Standing here on earth with Zach and Sam somewhere beyond my reach – in a place where I cannot see, hear or touch them, I am drawn to the title of the article – “The afterlife of near death experience.” In the afterlife of each near death experience the warning was clear.

“Enjoy your child today –just in case he is not here tomorrow.”