"He who takes his life for granted is a pencil
without an eraser." C. S. Lewis

That August Night

I stare up at a white ceiling, completely at peace in the intensive care unit of a Washington hospital. There was measured silence in the stillness of dawn as sparkling raindrops fell outside my window. I was bewildered. Where was I? The return is hazy. Where had I been? Did my soul depart the mask of skin I wear, the broken body? Where did I go and what journey did I take? I have no memory of that August night, no memory twelve hours before the accident and no memory while in a coma for two and one-half weeks after I was hurtled from inside a truck onto asphalt into the depths of unconsciousness.

My friends lived and worked on their wheat farm on the outskirts of a small village in eastern Washington where I was visiting. I was told that after water skiing and picnicking on the Snake River the day after I arrived, and returning to their farm, I announced, "Let's go see our friend, Laurie." Sandie hesitated, insisting she would stay home, while Willie, her husband, thought it a great idea.

I don't remember our drive to Laurie's house that fateful evening, nor being met at the airport the previous day, or the events and fun that we apparently enjoyed on the Snake River. My memory was concussed out of me approximately twelve hours before my accident.

Floating upward, my eyes finally open. I was astonished to find out from my doctor what I had been through as I surfaced back into consciousness. A fractured skull that had severed my olfactory nerve hemorrhaged both retinas. My body was covered with multiple scrapes and bruises from the asphalt where I had landed, my feet and toes bloodied with cuts from wearing only sandals. It was recounted to me that the paramedics noted I was breathing abnormally when they arrived at the scene, immediately transporting me to a small local hospital where I spent the night; then transferring me to ICU in a more advanced hospital in Spokane a day later.

Because I have no memory of those weeks in a coma, I relied on my friends to tell me what happened. Though still weak and in some pain, we chuckled over some of the things I did while unconscious -- refusing to get into the bathtub to take a bath so two nurses had to hold me down when they got me in. "You pulled the plug on them and drained all the water out," laughed Sandie.

"I'm sure they understood I knew not what I was doing."

"Did I really break my restraints and stumble out of bed into a doorway, breaking the stitches open on my elbow?

"Yes, though you were still in a wavering fog, somehow you managed to get out of bed in your weakened state. The nurses told me they were very upset."

"All I wanted to do was get up. I only needed to go to the bathroom, Sandie, thinking I knew where it was. I must have lost my balance."

Nearing the end of my comatose state, through the haze of unconsciousness it was the thirst - I wanted water and more water. They gave me ice instead. I had no control over my speech yet, but could sense the nurses nearby. At the same time there was a feeling of such peace that washed over me.

Leaving the hospital, I was confused and disoriented. "What happened, Sandie? How is Willie?"

"He's fine. He was treated for only minor injuries. The truck spun out on gravel on the way home from Laurie's, going 55mph as far as Willie can remember. He was scared to death as you were not moving and had to run to a nearby house to call the ambulance."

"The doctors at St. Joseph's were quite surprised about your quick recovery. They thought it would take longer,"said Sandie.

"I sure fooled them, didn't I? They told me on my discharge, that they thought I may have had a subdural hematoma, but I fooled them again!"

Not amused by my statement, Sandie soberly replied, "I don't know that you fooled them, but there was certainly someone watching over you. We came to see you every day, but you were sure antisocial and would not talk or open your eyes for us."

Willie, with his crooked grin and pale blue eyes, teased, "You have a bridge named after you, where our accident occurred. After all, your head cracked the highway there."

After spending a week resting at my friends' home, we decided I could physically handle the flight home. "I promise, I'll be back." "You better be," said Willie. "We'll hold you to it, but promise you'll bring your three sons the next time." Sandie hugged me, with tears in her eyes, "Yes, we must continue your visit next summer - and, please bring a helmet with you!"

At San Francisco International, my youngest son and husband greeted me, so thrilled was I to see them. As my son, Gary, wheeled me towards the elevator, I jumped out of my wheelchair to walk to it and stumbled to the floor, unable to discern I was not ready for steady walking yet.

My fractured skull severed my olfactory nerve, which does not regenerate, losing my sense of smell forever. Still traumatized, and in emotional flux, it did not sink in when my neurosurgeon told me of its permanence.

After one year my taste returned, meanwhile having lost close to twenty pounds and looking like a shriveled old tomato. I had no desire to cook or even eat, until an emergency low-blood sugar level sent me to a doctor again.

Out of one's five senses, losing the sense of smell was a disappointment, and as the years passed forgotten, rarely ever thought of.

Brian, what have you done?" I asked my son that Thanksgiving as we sat down for turkey. White wine had been poured. Taking a sip out of my glass, I realized something was wrong. I could not smell or taste, but could tell from the weight and look of the liquid that it was water. We all had a good laugh over his prank.

I was very lucky I reasoned. One could hardly get to age forty without losing something- one's best friend from first grade, a few illusions, a significant love.

The physical, mental and emotional states continued for months, while I navigated along, the physical healing the quickest. Phone calls were suspicious since I recognized no one's voice.

Daily each morning, blissfully looking out my bedroom window, tears involuntarily fell. Why was I crying when I had survived and was alive? Praying to God each day I thanked him for returning me to my family.

My story is one that changed my life. I found a love energy and contact with my higher self in experiencing new truth and wisdom. It was a major adjustment in living and attitude, and a distinct alteration of personality and thoughts.

Weeks would pass as I became more aware of what had happened to me. I was now very interested in the human body and how it could heal, taking a course in Anatomy at a local college, being the oldest student in the class. We dissected human cadavers with scalpels (thankful I could not smell the formaldehyde). Sneaking a camera in one day without the teacher noticing, I captured pictures of the internal organs we were studying.

Yes, my life had changed. Because of my coma, I don't remember any pain or fear, and continued my love of skiing in the Sierras only two months after I returned home, falling on ice on one of my runs, causing more trauma to my injured elbow.

With unshaken optimism, I decided to take flight lessons, becoming a licensed pilot, flying friends and family on exciting adventures and unforeseen dilemmas in the air. Had my accident taught me to be fearless? Was I immortal? No, only looking forward to more challenges.

I continued to try to understand what happened while in a coma. Perhaps my soul left my body, to experience spiritual awareness, only to return again so that I could live. I seemed happier and so explored the spiritual side of life, sensing my guides many times. These were the moments when I began to understand how unaware I'd been - how closely things are connected to one another. We humans are only a part of something very much larger. I learned that there are other realities that exist besides what you can see, touch, and hear with your physical senses.

Yes, my guides had surely been watching over me. My accident, though very traumatic, has taught me that life should be lived to the fullest extent, with faith that you are evolving down the right path. That unforeseen accidents do happen, perhaps to teach you subtle things about your life's journey, and to know yourself in new, and more loving ways.