The Thought of Dying Scares Me to Death!

The title of this blog sums it up. I have had a near death experience and it was indescribable. I have prayed to die, many times, when I was lost in addiction and alcoholism. My experience with panic attacks put me in the hospital three times. All three incidents made me feel like I WAS dying. I have drank enough alcohol to be in a clinical coma with a 33% blood alcohol level and rolled my car end over end four times. I could have been killed or killed someone else.

 I have been with a loved one when they took their last breath. I have had dogs put down and had the undesirable power of their life or death in my hands. I know it's inevitable. I know I'm going to heaven. It is the physical part of the deal that kills me! The uncertainty of when it is going to happen is nerve wracking. I often wonder if I would be happier knowing when it was coming or get one last surprise at the end of my ride. I don't know which it will be. I don't have much say in the matter.

Death is a subject people just don't talk about. We talk about those who have passed after the fact. The topic of our own mortality rarely comes up unless we are faced with an accident or terminal illness. I think about it a lot. I won't say obsessively but being a wee bit of a hypochondriac makes the subject roll around in my head more than the average bear. When I pull a muscle in my back or my arm spasms I am instantly catapulted into "The end is near mentality." It may seem silly but I think we all ponder it sometimes and just don't let it out. When I go in for a teeth cleaning I say a prayer of confession and ask God to save a place for me in paradise. I know I'm an extreme case but I know we all do it at times.

When I was young I thought everyone lived to around 90 and then died in their sleep. Man, I wish that simple childish theory was the case. I thought I was indestructible climbing trees and doing goofy stunts. Broken arms came to mind but permanent exit was never really a consideration. When I turned 17 and started abusing alcohol and drugs I still thought I was Iron Man. Then I moved the number to 40. I thought that 40 years of fast living was enough for me and I would be ready to check out. God knows I was committing suicide slowly, an inch at a time from the substances I punished my mind and body with.

My grandfather died at 39 and my stepfather at 42. Based on genetics, I figured, and the skip a generation theory I was gonna be right on the money with my age of 40 cutoff. Most of my relatives died in their late 70's and older. When I was young that was like, a million. No problem! Now that I am 45 the definition of being old bar keeps sliding to the right. 50 is around the corner, 60 is still pretty young, 70 is getting up there, 80 is a decent life and by 90 I probably would think I was 12 again so that's not an issue.

I find it funny that I used to pump my fist and sing "Hope I die before I get old!" Now I carry a low dose aspirin in my pocket that I can chomp on if I have a grabber. I really do! I used to laugh at those chairs that take you to the second floor on a little rail. Now I see those commercials and think that would really be comfortable. The scooters! Oh, the scooters. To me that is like a go kart for old people. Even if I live into my 80's and am in great shape, I am still getting the scooter. I'm going to put a basket on the front to carry my stuff and put one of those long orange flags on the back like I used to have on my bike.

As I get more sober and see how much I have missed from the memory loss that accompanies substance abuse, it makes me want to live more and fear death even more. I want to see my grandkids and play the Ramones for them and teach them to play baseball. I want to retire and have the focus of my day be on whether I should make a pot pie or have some Raisin Bran. I want my biggest decision of the day to be choosing between reruns of "Sanford and Son" or "Rescue Me."

The bottom line is we don't know when IT'S going to happen. I just don't want it to hurt! I just don't want any of my loved ones to see it happen. I just don't want it to be when my car is in front of a girlie bar, leaving my wife to wonder if I kicked before or after I went in. I make light of a subject that really does occupy some of my thoughts. Ultimately I just don't want to be a burden on my wife. If I don't know who I am or who she is and can't take care of myself, just whack me. Consider this a legal document. Kick out the plug. At the memorial service tell a funny story about me. Don't cry. I'll be moving on to paradise.

Time really does fly as you get older. At 45 it is zooming buy! At 65 I might have to wear a helmet and goggles to protect my head from getting hit by the time flying by. At 75 I will risk the injury. At 85 I will be grateful for the run. At 90 I think I'll be tired enough to welcome the idea. It is all up to the big guy.

I do know this. Every Day is a GIFT! The other day I heard a woman on TV say that as long as she is walking on this earth God has something for her to do. I like that. I will help my fellow man in between the pot pie and Sanford and Son. I do live my life to the fullest. I do live each day like it may be my last. I try to leave each person I encounter on a good note. I will help people in recovery as long as I can, I will make people laugh as l am funny and I will give thanks each morning when I know I have been granted one more TODAY!

Angels and Dreamins'.....Near Death Experiences and Visitations! Part Two!

At the risk of sounding like James Frey's confession of adding fictional flare to his semi-non-fictional story of pain and addiction, I have to make a confession that is the opposite of his. It is an admission of holding back facts in my story. To fully understand the following chapter you will have to go back to my chapter "I Was Dead but Didn't Die." My comparison to Frey is that I left a part OUT about my attempted self termination. It was a fact that I didn't think added to my story and I didn't want you to think I was cruel to animals. Nothing could be further from the truth. I now regret the omission, and am eager to share everything. Now that I am writing about my "Near Death" experience and unexplained encounters, not of this dimension, it must be recorded.

There was no thoughts of misleading the reader. I just wasn't prepared to tell the whole story of that night. It was hard enough telling people I was trying to off myself. The omission revolves around my black Lab Fabian. I have had him since my wife rescued him at 6 months old, from the Downers Grove, Illinois Humane Society. He is now 11 and nearing the end of his road. On that haunting date I was going to speed up the trip and take him with me. I should also mention I have 2 other rescue dogs, "Cooter" an 11 year old yellow Lab, and "Grace" a 3 year old Pekingese. An endorsement for adopting animals may sound trite, seeing as I was gonna take myself out, and him with me.

I love my dogs dearly, as I do all animals. Kris and I have no biological children together so our dogs are our adopted proxies. Check that! I hate BATS, all bats big and small, and most snakes! I also despise any spider that I cannot squish with a paper towel victoriously. The most glaring phobia I have is clowns! They're always jumping out of tiny cars with honking horns and miming terribly choreographed slapstick skits in grossly over sized shoes with large painted-on mouths over their existing tiny mouths. What the hell is that? Too much time around them is sure to trigger a panic attack. That said, I am one of the few fathers who can say, with pride, that I never took my kids to the circus! I didn't want to pass on my phobias of the strangely painted creatures, nor create a scene of their father shrieking and running from center ring. That would inflict an equally painful psychological scar upon their young minds. Again, I use humor to deflect heavy feelings I have a hard time addressing in the moment.

Fabian and I have been joined at the hip for years. He knows my moods and tries to lick my wounds when I am hurt inside or out. He is the ultimate companion and I love him dearly. He is truly this man's best friend. He ultimately saved my life and was a part of the unexplainable events that happened that evening in 2004.

When my wife left me on that day after I relapsed and I planned my exodus to the great beyond, I did not leave a bowl of food for Fabian in the house. I did open the windows so the gas from the car exhaust didn't damage the house. Psychotic, I know. My plan was to take Fabian with me. We were going to be friends to the end. I have a small office that connects to my garage and that is where my suicide attempt began. I closed the door of the tiny office and opened the door to the garage where my Dodge Neon was running. I sealed the door to the house with duct tape to keep all the gas in the garage and into my office. I took Fabian into the room with me and we laid down by my CD rack.

After about 45 minutes went by, I began to feel sluggish. My breathing was slowing and it seemed as if things were going in slow motion. It was like I was watching a film. Fabian was laying next to me and I closed my eyes, as his were closed also. His breathing was more beleaguered, less frequent than usual, and very shallow. I knew he was getting close to death and I wasn't far behind.

As I laid next to him my eyes burned and I was unable to sit up. I closed my eyes and soon found myself in a different place. What I saw is hard to describe but I remember it vividly, even though I was being over taken by the carbon monoxide. Although I was sprawled out on the floor, I found myself standing up with Fabian at my left side. There were no white lights. The color for my experience was mostly grey. Describing the physical surroundings is hard to put into words because I have little to compare it to.

Imagine an hour glass each end perfectly symmetrical with a tube in between. Now take a thinly sliced cross-sectioned cut of the hour glass and lay it down flat. I was standing on one side of the hour glass floor and there was a bridge that separated me and Fabian from the other side of another hour glass floor. The whole vision was in white and grey. I could see that Fabian was still black but I could not see myself. I was there but couldn't see my physical being.

There was a presence there that seemed to to be hovering over my shoulder and encapsulating the whole place. It was very peaceful and strong. I was not afraid. There was no conversation in my experience but communication between me, the presence and the others I soon saw was definitely taking place. It was a non-verbal dialogue with a feeling based exchange of information. Fabian stood, happily transfixed at the view across the bridge. The more powerful presence was not encouraging me to do anything or go anywhere. It was just there letting me survey my surroundings.

From my side of the bridge I could see images of what I knew were people. It wasn't like, "oh look it's Grandma and Uncle Jack." I could sense loved ones and saw shapes of auras but there was no definition to the forms. I knew what they were but they were shapes, not outlines of humans, and they had a cloudy illumination to them. I also did not recognize, or feel, all of the auras that filled the background behind those closest to me on the other side. The bridge was slightly curvy and to each side was only grey vapor and nothingness. There was no sense of depth perception but the auras on the other side were seemingly about a 100 yards away.

I was not drawn to the other side and the loving figures did not call for me to join them. They were letting me know they loved me, but that was all. The stronger presence surrounding me gave me the feeling that I had a choice to go to the other side of the bridge or not. It was up to me. There was no pressure either way. It was simply up to me. I was not intimidated or feeling pressure. I was just at a point of decision. I looked down at Fabian and I realized that taking my own life and crossing the bridge was my decision, but that he didn't have a choice. I held the power of his life and death in my hands.

I knew I loved him too much to take his life and taking him from my family was wrong. I didn't reflect on the impact my death would have on my family. I just loved my dog too much to be so cruel to him and doubly cruel to my family. He is laying next to me now as I write this, as is Cooter. I call them  Salt-n-Pepa.

I found myself back on the floor, next to Fabian and the sealed door that went into the family room. He was barely breathing and his tongue was hanging out to the side. I reached up and pulled the door open. Oxygen and clean air rushed in. We both stayed there. The car was still running in the garage. After a few moments he began to somewhat get it together. I crawled into the family room pulling him along. A short time later, he was snapping out of it pretty well and I had the strength to let him outside to get more air.

I didn't fully comprehend what I had just experienced, like I do now. After I knew Fab was okay, I returned to the garage and closed the door behind me to finish the job I had set out to do. Rosary draped on me and Bible in hand, I shut the door from the office to the garage, leaving Fabian behind. You know the rest of the story. It has a happy ending. I am still here.

I now know I was on the edge of death. I know that I was given a choice to cross the bridge or stay behind. My love for Fabian helped me choose to stay here. God had decided to make my decision for me, through him. When I woke up later in the garage the Neon had stalled. I believe in heaven or another plane like I believe in oxygen. No one can veer me from that conviction. I saw what many, and few, have seen. Life's the journey, not the destination. I am glad God made my choice for me. In the condition I was in, I can honestly say that choosing life would not have been my decision, without God and Fabian's intervention.