The Night I Died, Lost My Religion and Found My Soul

This is a true story I first posted as a blog on Myspace.com. It is a retelling of the night when, at thirteen, I died from Hypothermia and had an NDE

My veins were ice. As my body seized and shuddered uncontrollably, I fought to retain consciousness. Images of the scene around me flickered at the corners of my weary eyes: an empty cot next to me (OD green like everything else); an elbow in a parka; an IV bag; another woman shaking on a cot nearby. I heard cursing and cajoling; tears and laughter; the echo that the crowd of thousands just outside the medical tent created -- even when most of the pilgrims gathered for World Youth day were silent compared with the commotion close at hand. Someone surrounded me with blankets. I could not feel the needle as, in one of my short bursts of clear vision, I watched the IV being inserted into my arm.

 

I thought about where I was and why I was there-- not just at the moment, but why I was alive to begin with. It had been a rough year. It had been a rough life, considering what I had been through in my 13 years. I wondered why I was fighting away the cool blackness so diligently. After all, hadn't I tried to kill myself only a few months before, tired of the constant teasing and torture from my peers, and the lack of support from the adults I held dearest?

 

I looked at that woman I had spied a few cots down from me- a beautiful woman with her terrified loved ones surrounding her. I felt ugly; I was alone. I had come to the Mile High City with a large group of fellow Catholics from Oregon. Failing to rise to the challenge of truly being my friends, of supporting me when I was so cold I could scarcely breathe, they had all left me. I was alone in that bustle of people, fighting for my life against the shuddering ache that is hypothermia.

 

Outside the tent... I listened again to the bustle of youth and their adult escorts, all settling down for the night, dotting the lawn of Cherry Creek Park in anticipation of the Pope John Paul the Second's arrival for mass and a blessing the next morning. I heard the happiness in their voices, and stopped shuddering. I let go.

 

A calming blanket, the blackness surrounded me, and the voices faded. For a moment, there was nothing. Then I heard a whisper, or what I thought to be a whisper, and I felt myself turning to see him sitting beside me: a young man of about 17, dressed in military clothing, looking down at my face. His eyes spoke warmth I had never felt from anyone who had looked at me in my life, the warmth of someone who loved me. I did not know his face, but there was something in him that I recognized as familiar. His green eyes glistened with tears, but not just ordinary tears... The glistening tears of an angel, I thought. They sparkled like diamonds of the finest cut, and along with his radiant soul pouring out so much emotion, I felt those tears move me to touch his face. When my hand drew close, he pulled away, and stood. His hands outstretched as if to embrace me, and then he began to walk away.

 

Without question, I knew that I had to follow. If there was anywhere that I belonged, it was wherever my one true friend wanted to lead me. I rose from the old stained army cot, everything around me in a haze. All the medical personnel and other patients no longer existed. All that WAS was my shining friend, whom I would have followed to the ends of the heavens to keep close to me. He turned toward me again with a smile on his face, a beckoning that said "Yes, follow me," and an aperture of light opened up some yards behind him, turning him into a stark shadow against the power of that beautiful light. I stood stunned for a moment, and then reached for him. I could feel his fingers brushing mine, then halting and moving back. He shook his head and gazed longingly at me, and looked behind me. I turned to look, and saw my body lying on the cot, an empty shell. I saw the medical team rushing around me, and I closed my eyes. I must be dreaming, I thought; this is not happening.

 

Then I felt myself shudder again, harder than before. I felt my veins burning, and heard a few barked orders from one of the doctors. The pain was excruciating. Hoping to hold onto the dream, I kept my eyes closed tight. Once again, I was alone. I started to cry. Then I heard some of the voices more clearly.

 

"She's alive, she's crying."

 

"Someone refill the glucose in that IV NOW."

 

"Leave me alone!" (That voice was my own.)

 

"You're okay honey. We lost you for about a half minute, but you are here with us now, can you hear me?"

 

So I opened my eyes, and said "Yes, I hear you, but where is my friend?"

 

The fatigued nurse shook her head. "No one from your group has come back yet." Her words echoed in my head.

 

"Not my group, him, my friend with the shining tears. I want him back. Where is he?"

 

She simply turned away.

 

The shuddering slowly subsided, but the fatigue was deep. I had to be held up to go to the port-o-potty outside the tent. My legs were so weak that it felt as though they were strapped to lead weights.

 

For all of the next day the fatigue gripped me, and kept me in that stained old Army Cot in the Emergency Medical Unit that had been called in to help with the crowd, many of whom had battled hypothermia as I had. I listened as the crowd outside cheered for Pope John Paul II, and finally, after the mass was over, a few members from my group came to retrieve me.

 

"While you were seeing the Pope," I blurted to the first of my "friends" to arrive, " I was busy recovering from dying and seeing a glimpse of heaven. You missed it."

 

The young girl shook her head and said, "I'm sure you were mistaken."

 

She looked over at the doctor, the one who had saved my life.

 

"She left us for over 40 seconds," he told her, looking at the rest of my group as they filed in. "And she's not the first person I've heard crying on re-entry." The doctor walked away, and the members of my Youth Group hauled me home.

I never attended mass again.

I think of that night often and wonder if the visions I saw were indeed real. I like to think that my friend was, and many times in my life I have said a quiet prayer- not to God, but to him. I beg him to find me again when the time is right, and lead me into that aperture of glistening light.

Copyright Constance Sxxxxxx 2007 All Rights Reserved

Author's Note

Please note (especially those who in their reviews seem to fear for my mortal soul):
I am no longer Catholic, nor do I follow any particular organized religion. I never really was a Catholic anyway. I was forced to be one.

I have never been one to decide on anything without seeing EVERY point of view. I've read the Holy book of every major religion: the Bible twice, the Quran, the Tao Te Ching, The Upanishads and Bhagavad Gita... do I need to list them all for you? There are similarities between them all. I find good and bad within each. I choose to take only the good, and leave the separatist and extremist attitudes to those who have no idea what faith and love are.

I have always had a sense of spirit, and of God. I find organized religion to be man's way of separating from one another, when faith in God is meant to draw people together. I am not religious, no. I do not bow to dogma written by men claiming to hear the voice of God. Instead, I listen to nature, to the hundreds of tongues speaking of faith and spirituality, to the things God created- all of them. I know who I am as a tiny part of this universe. I understand the way it is all connected. This experience was the catalyst that began my journey into finding my soul.

You read the title and you stop at "Lost My Religion". Soul is more important than religion. Soul knows no dogma or congregation set up as a social circle to make yourself feel holy. Soul is in everything, and everything has a soul. Just my take. Believe what you want- but don't ever fear for me. I saw where I am going. I know within my heart that that hasn't changed- because my beliefs really haven't either. I simply found the strength to share without fear.

How do I worship? I worship by giving my entire energy to those around me in need, particularly children. I realize the fact that they are closer to God than any adult could ever hope to be, with their innocence and their open natures. I give. Instead of "Going to Service", I am the servant. Instead of preaching about what is right, I go out and I do all I can to change life for the better for those around me, regardless of creed, color, culture, or nationality. That's committing yourself to God. Church has absolutely NOTHING to do with that.

For many years I told no one of this story but those who were there when it happened. I did not even tell my own family. I feared condemnation. I don't fear that any more.

I respect anyone here who has a belief in dogmatic religion. I admire many for their faith. I will not ever condemn. (My Soulmate is, in fact, a devout Christian, and I love that part of him along with all of the rest.) However, I am educated enough to know what I personally believe, and I expect the same respect from anyone as I give to them. In fact, that is the root of my entire dislike of dogma.

Reviews

[Ralphy]

First, this is a very impressive story and it definitely spells saberition which I believe you experienced to the nth degree. I felt the love this angel had for you but he felt it was more important that you stay and help in a way that would be beneficial to all�that would be my interpretation

.
You are as I suspected a very powerful person and intelligent person�ok, no side track.
To your question, yes and no. When I was hit by the car while riding my motorcycle several things happen. First as I crossed the intersection, something ratcheted time down so that I was moving in slow motion. I really thought about what to do while the car approached me and that there was time to get off the bike but I didn't. it's like the slow motion inhibited me and this was my doom. But the funnything , if you can find humor in it, was the accident played before it happen�that I really didn't understand.
My ankle was crushed, severed while my head hit the curbing with a blunt force. Reality no longer existed but something was before me I didn't understand. Through I was staring at it I had no idea what it was or why, then I was catapulted back into this world but not by a doctor.

Over the next 12 years I would be visited by forces unknown to me to irradiate my role and to watch my behavior. Those 12 years I dreamt about religion, humanity, natural disasters, deception, my own family which I never met and September 11th. Which in 1990 no one believed me. I haven't covered all but this is not a book�lol

The second 12 years I lived those 12 years, which was nothing I really wanted to experience and many of the phrases in the dream had come into play. One year before September 11th I encountered my family by accident, while on a job I held, which the story alone would stand your hair.

Everything I dreamt happen, which has me stumped since what importance did it have and why was it important for me to know. It was almost as if I walk a thin line of life and death�but I was always guided and never feared as described in my story Baptized.

[Tomás Ó C..]

Very very interesting. From what I have read of the NDE, a loved one from your family comes to bring the erson on to the otherworld, or to send them back, so the guy in the uniform is a family member who knows YOU, but you did not know him before... quite a thought eh?

[Roadrunner]

Hmm, i have to say this is really astounding, beyond belief but very touching. The writer's experience is spiritual, eye opening as well as informative. Alot is attached to religion but from the writers perspective it shows that at the actual time of need you find out that religion is not always the solution to daily problems. In the writer's dire moment i think she either forgot to pray or to mention that, because having travelled to Mile High City with a large group of fellow Catholics, the first thing to do would have been to say a prayer to God whom you were gathered for, or was the gathering for the Pope? The writer seemed to loose focus as to the intention of the gathering although i dont know the ultimate purpose for the gathering. Now the writer got spellbound by the delusion of "the glistening tears of an angel", whom she got really attached to. Well, if that was an Angel he was commanded by God to come and keep the writer company and give her the strenght to fight on. The writer recovered and withdrew from God that sent her relief in her time of need. The writer still wants to be reunited with the Angel she saw but that may only happen if the vent up anger against God is released and try not to be led astray. Your lead to that aperture of glistening light lies in you attending mass again.

[[untitled]]

wow. That is amazing. what an experience you had. I often wonder if people who believe in god go to heaven and those of us who don't just die. Like what you believe will happen when you die is what really happens but this this is just way out of my realm. But you do a great job writing it. I was very entranced and couldn't even get up to put my pizza in the oven!

[mick weller]

You tell this well and describe the classic NDE scenario.
I'm intrigued as to how you became so cold (in a crowd of thousands?) did the night turn out to be much colder than expected? did people arrive unprepared without sleeping bags and extra warm clothing? Was there unexpected heavy rain to bring on such a chill?
The interesting thing about this is that the experience made you more certain about your beliefs.
I find it difficult to deal with disbelievers who explain this all away with the `scientific` explanation that NDE's are simply caused by chemicals released by the brain - even though there is strong evidence to suggest that OoB experiences (linked to NDE's) cannot be so simply explained and can later identify objects that are well away from normal areas of perception ie. where certain people(relatives) or objects are in another location entirely.
NDE's deserve more investigation... and we should all be mindful of the work of Dr.Raymond Moody in making people more aware of this phenomenon in his early work 'Life After Life'
thank you for sharing this

[akpolarmom]

I am sure you are telling the truth about your experience. A very powerful experience was given to you. I agree with Mejasha, you will most likely meet up with this friend again one day. You can of course ask God to send him back to collect you at a more appropriate time. I think of such a being as a guardian angel.

I do how ever beg you not to throw your religion out based on what I sense was a very unkind group of peers, and even bad leadership. Just remember that even though many humans will misrepresent God's way or not act in a 'godly and loving' way, (in spite of the fact that we are called to do so,) it does not mean that God is wrong. Please search for some spiritual guidance from a priest. You should be old enough by now to forgo all the peer drama that caused you so much pain in the first place. Do not allow childish stuff to put you and your eternal wellbeing at risk, by turning your back. Please, don't carry it into adulthood with you.

Akpolarmom

[Carole]

This is quite an amazing story and I believe every bit of it. I believe you had an out of body experience as they lost you momentarily. You did a fantastic job writing this. It flows very well, and held my attention all the way through. A job well done!

I agree with Mejasha. You will probably never see this angel again. He was obviously sent to lead you home until your spirit went back to your body. I am with Mejasha...I don't think praying to him will do you any good.
I really enjoyed this, Constance! :-)

[Kara Emily Krantz]

jesus. this is gorgeous. is this really a true story?? fascinating. you did a wonderful job of writing this. i agree with what tim null is saying about the fact that you maintian credibility.

fantastic write

[Tim Null]

This works well as a story. It could also be integrated into a future memoir. Additionally, it provides an excellent description of the out of body experience, which typically is described in such a fantastic fashion that the overall credibility of the story is severely diminished. That is not the case here. Not only is the credibility of the story left intact, but -- at the end of the story -- the reader is rooting for the future success of the heroine. And that is how a story should end. Job well done!

[Melanie Jane Boicourt S..]

I loved this and it brought tears to my eyes. I do believe your story but I warn you to be careful who you pray to. This guide could have been an angel or an old reletive of yours or maybe someone who had died in that same exact place before. Or he could have been just a guide to take you there if it was your time. I am sure that your friend would not want you to pray to "him". He is just a part of something bigger than you could ever imagine and I am sure that you will get to see him again. But the light that you saw is full of compassion and beyond that light, everyone will feel like a familiar friend to you.
Thank you so much for sharing.
Love All, Mejasha