I died last Tuesday when I was out for a walk in the cold night air. There are train tracks close to my house, but the train doesn't run too much after dark. Well, tonight the train was running so I had to wait for it to pass. I remember thinking that I like how waiting for a train to pass is the one kind of waiting no one ever seems to mind. It seems we're just happy to be safely on one side of the tracks or the other, as we sit back and respect the deadly iron power shaking the earth as it passes by. Once the train was only a spot in the distance, I safely crossed the tracks and was back on my way to nowhere.
Now, I've been walking the better part of 25 years. I get the concept. I would say I'm even pretty good at it. I enjoy stepping out the front door and just walking for a while. But for some reason, on this achingly normal Tuesday, I tripped over my own feet and tumbled towards the curb mouth first like a lion about to take a big bite out of a gazelle's rear end. It's funny. A life full of so many moments, some more impressive than others, is ended by one moment so clumsy and mundane.
I don't remember thinking about death or seeing my life flash before my eyes. Mostly because all I could think was "Idiot, walk like you have been since you were an infant! Moron!" Next thing I knew, I was standing up, pain free. Only, I was looking down at myself. My dead self, to be exact.
It took about thirty minutes to get over all the stages of dying: panic, denial, depression, sadness, anger... you know, all the stuff we think we're above until we actually kick the bucket ourselves. I guess that's when I realized that I was missing the most important point. Despite seeing my dead body lying there, I was still breathing and still standing on 2nd street in Claremont, the little town I have called home for only a few months. I had to call my family. Reaching into my pocket to grab my Samsung Propel, my hand went right through my phone! It wasn't
kind of like in those movies about someone dying and having an out of body experience; it was
exactly like in the movies. Great, even my death is one big cliché! I needed to get to my family, just in case this weirdness ended and my soul actually started the trip to heaven or...wherever.
Since I was not able to touch anything, I kind of figured my car was useless too. To get to my family, all I could do was start walking down I-40 and hope that my ghost legs were stronger than my old ones. Walking along the side of the interstate, it was obvious that no one could see me, even though I saw them as I always have. In my current state of...um…deadness, I laughed at myself for carefully walking along the side of the road. With my family in Vale more than twenty miles away, I started running in the middle lane, against traffic, just because I could.
It took me most of the night to get to my parents' house, but at least I was right about my new legs not getting tired. As I stood in the driveway of my childhood home, a dark thought overwhelmed me. What if someone had discovered my body back in Claremont and my mom already knew? Was I even doing the right thing by coming here? All I wanted to do was let my family know that I was okay, but how many people really feel comforted by a ghost? So I just stood outside the front door for an hour or maybe two, very conflicted and very dead.
As it turns out, all of my worrying was a waste of time. No one would wake up. There was no way at all to interact with my family. I couldn't pick up a pen or make a candle flicker or mess with electronic devices or any of that cool stuff. I was a weak and pathetic ghost. And I wanted my life back. I left my parents' room, walked through the wall and laid down in the grass in the backyard. Through the rest of the night and next morning I cried.
The grass was wet with dew, and the sun was hot on my face. Waking up in my parents' yard reminded me that all of this was not a dream as I had prayed the night before. For a moment, I wondered why I could feel the grass and the sun, yet any object I tried to touch went right through me. Maybe it was because of man's connection with the earth, or some other hippy nonsense. Or maybe God was saying "Ha! I can still screw with you even though you are dead!" Either way, I felt so completely alone. It felt like I was hidden from not only the eyes of everyone I had ever loved, but even God did not see me. I thought of all those times I passed up the opportunity to be with the people I truly cared about. I wondered what the Hell I was thinking all those years, never really getting all that close to those I loved so much. Now, knowing I could never talk to them again, I felt like the biggest fool who ever lived. What was so important that the people in my life had to come in second place behind whatever else I was trying to achieve? Oh wow, I held a steady job and had a neat little convertible. Well, Mr. Fantastic, what good is that doing you now that you are D E A D? Well, how about it? Moron.
I slept on the lawn for a couple more nights, knowing that I needed to figure out how to move on to wherever my new home was supposed to be. I couldn't do it. I could not leave my family or my friends behind without telling them I was okay. But, was I okay? Not really, but that's what we do to the people we love. We lie to them. And I wanted to tell them this great lie one more time: "Hey, I'm okay."
I promised myself and I promised God, that If I ever got a second chance, I would worry more about the people who loved me and less about the mundane tasks of living. All of that garbage could worry about itself for all I cared. I would get things right if I could only try again. "Please God, give me another chance...Jesus Christ help me!" I screamed in anguish before collapsing onto the ground. Somehow, my tormented heart was hushed for a moment and I fell asleep on the soft grass one last time.
I rolled over in bed and saw that it was already 7:30. Damn, I'm late for work!
