Curled up in a chair in the hospital room, I watched the “me” laying on the bed sleep for several days. The feeling of being pulled towards the ‘me’ on the bed came and went. I was never more hopeful than the last time it happened. I was within inches of my body when the sensation ceased. I grabbed for my body but, before I could reach it, I was back in the chair, frustrated but hopeful. That was the closest I had been to rejoining. I could feel the will to live.
Why am I separated? What is keeping me from waking? I thought back to all the movies about people crossing over. It didn’t make sense. Wouldn’t I be the one having experiences that would keep me from wanting to come back? There was no tunnel, no light, and no departed loved ones helping me to cross over. There was just me the observer watching my body sleep. Could it be that there were three of us: the observer “me” stuck in the hospital watching my body, the “me” recovering in the hospital bed, and a third “me” visiting Mom and Jim in heaven refusing to come back? I remembered my friend Vicky telling me about our different layers. I just remembered a few: the physical, astral, casual, celestial, and etheric. Or something like that. I think she said the etheric is closest to the physical so that would explain why I can still feel sensations that happen to my physical body like the defibrillator and the patch. She talked about the astral being the closest level to the spirit plane; maybe I was in my astral body. Maybe this “me” floating outside of my body was something altogether different. Something Vicky doesn’t even know about. I was so frustrated and confused. I couldn’t think of anything else that would keep me from wanting to wake up other than being with Mom and Jim again.
I watched as friends and co-workers stopped by with flowers and quick stories about what was happening in their lives and how they missed me and prayed for my recovery.
I walked around the hospital in observer mode for what seemed like days. I walked past the staff… unseen. Only a few patients could see me. I assumed they were on the edge of death. I sat with an elderly woman as she pointed out the relatives filling her room to help her cross. I couldn’t see any of them but said pleased to meet you as she introduced each member of her family that had passed. I was hoping that not seeing them was a good sign that I was more rooted with the living than the dead. I spent most of my time in the children’s ward telling stories to the few that could see me. I tried not to think about the fact that if they could see me, they might be dying. I couldn’t remember stories from my childhood, so I made some up. I was sure on some level they knew I was different from the staff. I hoped they wouldn’t ask questions. Questions I had no answers to.
Deciding that I couldn’t wait for my body to pull me back in, I took a running start and leaped onto the bed falling backward. I hoped the momentum would shove me back in my body. Instead, I went through my body as well as the bed and ended up on the floor underneath. I stared up at the bed frame and mattress. “I’m in hell, I thought. I’m sure of it. I’m doomed to watch myself for eternity.”
My next strategy was to lie on the bed. If I were a fragment of the Kate on the bed, maybe I could connect. Perhaps I would see what she was seeing, see what was keeping her from returning. I crawled out from underneath the bed. I’m sure I could have just risen through it, the same way I fell through it. It just felt normal to crawl Continue reading