I began traveling on the greenbelt along Memorial Drive. One minute I am crossing over the river after talking to my wife Tanya over the phone, the next moment I am flying.
Flying and flying and flying, in a darkness that is like closing your eyes at the beach. Darkness with a glow behind it. It was more than flying. I was tumbling through a dark void. I was weightless, as if I was in outer space, but I could feel the acceleration. I asked myself, “Why am I flying? I was just riding my bike.” I was performing one action and then suddenly I was performing a completely different action in a different location. Almost as if someone changed the channel on the television and the same actor, the same character, went from an action movie to a romance drama.
No sooner than I asked why I was flying, I was suddenly standing on solid ground, and I opened my eyes to see a vast landscape. I was standing in a field of gold surrounded by a horizon made of mountains. The mountains were very far in the distance. The field of tall grass was almost like a field of ripened wheat. But it wasn’t wheat. Having a college degree in plant science, I am very familiar with many different varieties of grass and am very familiar with plants even on a cellular level. This grass was far different than any other plant I had studied. It was glowing. Light seemed to emanate from the plant itself. The light was radiating from within the grass.
Not only could I see the grass, but I could feel it without touching it. I could feel it sway in the wind. I could feel it living and thriving. The feeling was warm but not constant. The sensation of feeling seemed to be in a very slow pulse. This pulse would increase in intensity and then decrease in intensity. Almost like being on a large wave.
Beyond feeling the grass, I could feel the soil that I was standing on. It also radiated a glow. The feeling was different from the grass, but it too was alive. I could feel everything around me.
As I continued to take in the minutia of what I was seeing and feeling, I suddenly saw a man standing in front of me. He was maybe 20 feet away. I thought I recognized him. Was it my deceased brother Jonathon? Except this man was physically fit. Physically perfect. Jonathon was 5’8” and a little chubby when he died. This man must have been 6 feet tall and lean. He was wearing almost a transparent robe. The fabric wasn’t glowing like all the living things around me. It was simply fine linen. But like the grass, I could feel this person and he felt like Jonathon. I didn’t say a word. That’s when he said, “Don’t worry, everything is going to be all right.”
That is when I knew it was in fact Jonathon. His voice and the way he said “everything is going to be all right” was the exact chill, happy go lucky tone he always seemed to talk in. That tone where life is so chill and there is no need to sweat the small stuff.
I still said nothing. I didn’t need to. We just stood there staring at each other smiling. The peace I felt was true peace. I thought I had experienced peaceful moments before, but this was different. There was no worry in the back of my mind. No pressure to leave, no pressure to stay.
We continued to stand there. I don’t know for how long, it could have been an eternity. Physically, I could have been unconscious for only 30 seconds or less, but here, in this place, I was there for hours, or it could have been days. It didn’t matter. Time didn’t matter. There was no time or at least no need for time. The concept of time was unrealistic, unnecessary.
In fact, time, as we know it, is still unsettling to me, three years after this incident. I lose track of time every day. The concept of time that was once so easy to grasp, is now foreign to me. The clock that we use is now an unwanted master, driving me to a life of slavery and I feel bound by the shackles of seconds, minutes, and hours.
As I stood there with my brother, I noticed the sky was transparent. It was day but I could see the stars. The brilliance of the stars seemed to light the sky, as if the place I was in had no day or night. Imagine standing in a mountain meadow, and the colors around you are as vibrant as normally seen at midafternoon, but the sky isn’t blue. Instead, it is a night sky with a density of stars like the center of the Milky Way Galaxy, but it fills the entire sky.
I knew I was leaving to go back to mortality. Again, I wasn’t concerned. The peace I felt, the reassurance from Jonathon, made it all worthwhile. Yet, I realized while standing there that my life was never going to be the same.
The next thing I remember is a jumbled mess of memories. I attribute the next 24 hours of spotty memories post-accident to traumatic brain injury or TBI. First, I remember looking up at three women bystanders. I thought they looked familiar, but they could have been anybody. Tanya had successfully made it to the roundabout and was assisting me in the car to take me to the hospital. Apparently, I had called her three times to tell her what happened. Each time saying the same thing over again. “I have been hit by a car. I am at the roundabout next to the post office,” hang up and start all over again. On the way to the hospital after loading me into the car, she kept asking me if I knew where I was.
Upon arriving at the hospital, I was asked what year it was and who was the President of the United States. I told the nurse that it was February 2019, and the president is Trump. Clearly, I was suffering from a severe concussion, it was April 2023, and Joe Biden was president.
Over time, I recovered. The helmet I was wearing saved my life. The car that hit me never stopped and I wish I knew of someone that had witnessed the accident. As time goes on and the accident falls further into the past, the memories of the accident don’t seem to be returning anytime soon. However, the one memory of seeing my brother and visiting what I can only summarize as a different world, is engrained in my head. The memory is just as real as my wedding day, or any other big life event. Maybe even more so.
Now, I find beauty in the simple and mundane things that surround me. I could spend hours just staring at beautiful plants or a ladybug. I no longer fear death or what happens after death. Even so, I have gained an even greater appreciation for life. I want to experience everything good and gain as much knowledge as possible.
Unfortunately, there is a big negative side effect of having an NDE. I feel very alone. No one can understand what I have experienced. Understandably so. How often does a person have a near death experience? I struggle to connect with people. I long to share with them what I have seen and experienced. I want to tell them that their day-to-day worries are inconsequential and everything is going to be alright.
My perspective of life was completely altered. It is difficult for me to enjoy small talk or conversations on subjects of little consequence. To put it simply, how does one find enjoyment talking about the Sunday night football game after experiencing a different world in a different plane of existence?
Furthermore, I was given a greater drive to find a purpose. And even 3 years later, I don’t feel that I have found that purpose. This drive has taken me through three different career changes.
The last job I had was with the United States Secret Service. I was so excited for the opportunity and felt that I had finally found where I belonged, where I could make a difference. But during my training, I found it very difficult to be at peace with the requirements of arresting someone or the potential to use lethal force to take another person’s life. So much of the training was exciting. My increased empathy that I gained from my NDE even helped me stand out as a member of my class where I was constantly concerned for the well-being and comfort of my classmates. I would do things like check the thermostat of the classroom, bring an extra watch to PT for any classmates that forgot to bring a watch, or even sit down one on one with classmates to talk. But as time went on, I felt increasingly uncomfortable with what the law enforcement job was going to require.
As part of this training, I was learning arrest techniques, how to handcuff and search people. I found the experience to be very uncomfortable. I kept feeling like I was going to be robbing a person of their individual liberty. Regardless of whether they were criminals or not, I kept perceiving myself in their shoes. This carried over into firearms and use of force training. I feel so strongly that this life is so important, and to take that away from someone, even if they were trying to take away my life, was more than I could bear. I recognized that these thoughts and the fact that I had not been able to fully adapt my life to the experience of my NDE led me to resign my position at the Secret Service.
Now I am continuing to find it difficult to integrate my NDE with my marriage. I certainly was not a perfect husband before the NDE, but now I don’t feel understood by my wife. I also don’t feel at home or comfortable in my own home. I am struggling to determine where I belong. I think of the NDE daily and wish I could return. I know it would be extremely easy to take my own life and I would return. But I believe so firmly in the sanctity of life and that I have an as-yet unfound purpose here, that I cannot consider the use of suicide as a way to return.