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Death Is Not the End of Awareness
Yeah, it’s about near-death experiences, but hold off on the cynicism for five minutes. Give me that, then unload both barrels of sarcasm as you will.
It was a late summer night in the early 1970’s in the Mississippi Delta, and Great-Uncle Kenneth was telling my grandmother about what happened to him on the operating table. He described what most of us today recognize as a “near-death experience”. His heart had stopped during surgery, and though he was clinically dead, he became aware of a beautiful light. He said he wanted so very much to go into that light, but it told him to go back, it wasn’t time yet. I spoke up as almost-teens often do and asked, “So what did it feel like, being dead?”
Even today I can picture his eyes as he turned to me. He said nothing, but just looked at me for maybe three eternal seconds. His eyes were steel-gray and didn’t contain hate or spite or malice or even anger, but instead were bottomless pits of utter disappointment, as if they were saying “you stupid, stupid kid, you don’t know anything at all.” He then turned back to my grandmother and continued to talk to her, telling her that he didn’t want to be revived on the operating table again.
I was mortified by what I’d done. I wanted to crawl under the table or run away…but I couldn’t. I loved Uncle Kenneth. He’d never told me any of his stories of…
