For me, the end of the year has always been a time for looking back at the year just past -- evaluating and reminiscing, reviewing the positive and the negative -- before moving on to the new year.

This process of review has never been depressing or morbid, but a time to grow and learn and, this year -- the year that almost wasn't -- has had special meaning and some memorable experiences.

Unlike other years when I have only considered 12 months, this time I was looking at 14 months. From October 25, 1986, until the present, December 1997, are followed by AHA -- After Heart Attack.

However, as I look back, my thoughts aren't so much, "Oh, my God, I could have died," as they are, "My God, I lived through it."

During the first 24 hours of that fateful day, I was in the intensive care unit of the local hospital. I was intrigued by many thoughts and emotions. In retrospect, I realize fear was probably held at bay by curiosity. What would happen next? What were all the wires, tubes, machines?

As an avid student of philosophy, I found myself thinking of Rene Descarte -- ego cogito, ergo sum -- I think, therefore I am. Was dying only a cessation of thinking or was it the other way around?

I thought of the teachings of Christ and of Buddha -- of the words found in the Tao Te Ching and the Bhagavad-gita. Did life continue? Was death only a door into another dimension?

At one point, I felt I was balanced between two worlds. In one were my mother, my dad, and one of my daughters, all of whom had died. The other included my youngest daughter, who was very much alive. She had recently graduated from high school and was beginning her journey into adulthood and personal autonomy.

Some of the experiences during that first 24 hours were funny. The machine which was monitoring my heart, "flat-lined." Suddenly, I remembered all the "doctor shows" on TV where this happens when the patient dies.

A nurse hurried into the room in response to what could have been an emergency, took one look at the panic which must have been registering on my face, and said, "Don't worry, honey, if you can see it and hear it, you're OK. You've probably just got a loose connection."

I laughed at the incongruity of the situation, but I also remember wondering, "How does she know what happens when a person dies?"

Over the next two and a half months, tests were conducted to define the physical aspects of the heart attack, medication was prescribed, and I returned to work. Life, with some minor limitations, was, outwardly at least, back to normal.

However, life had taken on a new perspective -- old things became new -- colors were brighter, air fresher, in short, life took on an intensity I had not noticed before.

A "natural-born worrier", I found myself stopping in mid-worry to remind myself of the futility of worrying. It changed nothing and detracted from the present moment -- moments which are precious to me now.

Even waking up each morning has taken on a new meaning. A sense of wonder fills me as I realize each day I have one more chance to live as fully as I possibly can -- to tell my children I love them -- to listen to a song -- or, as trite as it may sound, to smell the roses.

My awareness of nature has become more intense. During a snowstorm, as I walked to my car, I became caught up in the beauty of the falling snow and the trees brilliantly decorated in white. A stillness surrounded me and seemed to permeate my soul. The smell of winter seemed crisper and clearer.

The aftermath of the heart attack led to more serious questions, such as why am I still alive when only a few months after I returned to work my oldest daughter lost her twin daughters at birth? Questions such as this which have puzzled philosophers and theologians down through the ages have taken on a new depth of interest for me.

But, more importantly, during this year that almost wasn't, I have been more aware that each moment is, in itself, all we have of Life. The past can not be changed and the future is only a dream yet to be realized in its own moment.

Published: The Post-Journal, Saturday, December 26, 1987.

Comments may be sent to me at granny@netsync.net

---

This page hosted by Get your own Free Home Page