That Space Between Living & Dying

I was the passenger in seat 38C. I was late getting to the airport due to an early winter snowstorm that dropped four inches in about two early morning hours, snarling traffic from my downtown hotel to the airport. The direct flight from Denver to Orlando would have taken about four and a half hours.

I settled in next to a plus-sized but pleasant African American woman. We exchanged greetings, but I was happy she wasn't talkative as we prepared for takeoff. My seat was uncomfortable, and I wasn’t about to pay the extra $35.00 to upgrade to a seat offering two additional inches of legroom. That wasn't the issue. It was the lack of padding on the seat cushion that mattered. There may have once been padding on the seat before several thousand people crushed it over the last few years of record-breaking travel after the pandemic.

The snowfall had diminished, but the temperature had dropped into the mid-twenties. There was a delay in getting off the ground due to the need for de-icing the wings, so I put on my noise-canceling headphones and loaded a podcast informing me how to stay in shape after reaching the age of 60. I knew that I would be losing the airport internet and cell coverage very soon and that the internet access would be unavailable until we reached 10,000 feet.

Even though my headphones prevented me from hearing the flight attendant, I could see her as she explained the emergency procedures and showed us all how to fasten our seatbelts. I knew then that we would soon be airborne.

After turning off the uninteresting podcast and putting my phone in Airplane Mode, I closed my eyes and prepared for takeoff. As the plane surged forward down the runway, I detected signs of stress from my neighbor next to me, who grabbed the armrests on both sides of her seat tightly. I put my hand on hers, and she looked at me with trepidation. I smiled and told her it would be alright.

The plane rose steadily, and her discomfort diminished, but I continued holding her hand.

Then, there was the sensation of an explosion and a stabbing pain that dissipated quickly.

That’s what I remember. I was thrust into total darkness. I saw nothing—nothing at all. A pinpoint of light appeared in the distance. Gradually, the light got bigger, but I couldn't tell if I was moving toward it or if it was coming toward me. Then I was suddenly engulfed in a blinding light.

The plane and all its passengers were gone. I was initially confused, but a strange calmness overwhelmed me. I felt somehow suspended, weightless, floating without gravity. I turned my head left and right, but nothing was around me. I raised my hand toward my face, but my hand wasn't there. I looked down at where my feet should have been, but nothing was there. The calmness remained, and initially, I wondered why I wasn't distraught. The light dimmed slightly.

Images appeared randomly around me, but initially, I couldn't identify them. Then they became clearer, and I knew they were familiar faces. They were people I knew. First, I saw my mother, who had died when I was twelve years old. She was smiling, and I felt her warmth. Standing behind her was my grandmother, who we called Gannie, and my mother’s sister, Betty. They beckoned me to move toward them, and I felt myself gliding in their direction. I passed by them, and they seemed to follow.

As I moved forward, more familiar faces appeared left and right. I saw two nuns who taught me at Our Lady of Fatima grade school. They were old when I was a child, and they certainly had been gone from this earth for decades. They nodded as I passed by but didn’t seem to follow.

I saw two friends from high school who had passed away in the last few years: one from heart disease, the other from ALS. I saw an army buddy who I had lost track of but had recently found out that he had died of colon cancer.

The light dimmed further. The foreground remained bright, but the background darkened. More faces appeared. The scene became crowded, with good people I had known throughout my life at the forefront. My father, my uncles, and my grandparents were all there. Almost everyone smiled and waved. My youngest brother, who had taken his own life, was there, but he wasn't smiling

 and looked down as I passed.

Others I felt were not good people were there, but they remained in the background, almost out of sight. Lurking in the shadows, I saw a man I had known I always felt was a horrible human being. First, he smiled a devilish grin and started laughing and pointing at me. I would have shown him my middle finger if I had a hand, but I just smiled and looked ahead.

All the faces I saw appeared exactly as I had last seen them when they were alive, but they all had passed away long ago.

Two darkened areas that looked like tunnels appeared ahead of me. My progress slowed without any conscious thought. It was almost as if the movement slowed so I could decide between two avenues of pursuit.

It was at this juncture that I finally confronted my situation. First, the darkness. Then, the movement toward a light through what seems to be a dark tunnel. Am I dying? Am I already dead? Is this the end of my life or the beginning of something else? Is there a heaven? Is there a hell? Is there an afterlife? Maybe I’ll find out if reincarnation is real or just a figment of man’s imagination. Maybe an afterlife is just wishful thinking, and death is the end of a human being’s consciousness. Is that all there is? A life with a start and a finish with all that happened: all of the hopes and dreams, the love and the fabric of human relationships now lost. What would be the point?

From one single tunnel, two choices appeared before me…two darker black holes…and there were no signs to guide me. Neither one had pearly gates with angels awaiting my arrival. No devilish figures, fire, or brimstone emanated from them that would help me identify the gates of hell.

I stopped. I looked back and saw my mother smiling. All of the others had disappeared. It was very quiet for several long moments as I looked ahead.

Then I heard a faint voice calling my name, but I couldn’t tell where it was coming from. It sounded like my wife calling me…telling me to come to her. Then I heard a second voice…a younger voice…the voice of my daughter. She was crying, and she also begged me to come to her.

But from which of the black holes did my loved ones beckon me? I willed my consciousness to move closer and listen more intently, but the calls were faint, and the direction was unclear.

What was down the eerie black holes other than nothingness? I knew my wife and daughter were alive and that all of the others I’d seen were no longer among the living. Should I wait for another sign? Would there be another sign? Would the voices I heard simply fade away if I took no action? Where would I be then? Is purgatory a real place? A place where you are stationed between life and death, heaven and hell because you can't decide which direction to choose. Could this be a waiting room for those not yet worthy enough to be welcomed into heaven? Is this purgatory?

My hesitation caused me to take a look back at my life. It started slowly, with only snippets of memories of my life as a very young child. I played well with my siblings and other children without fighting or anger. I was generally a happy child.

One devilish situation came to mind as I saw myself sprinkling baby powder all over the living room floor. When my mother confronted me, I blamed my little sister for it. Then I did it again. And again…until my mother realized that I was the culprit and that my sister was innocent and too young to defend herself. That was a mean thing for a six-year-old to do, but did that make me a bad person?

Nothing more sinister comes to mind as my life progresses, but I was always inside my own head…not thinking about others much…only thinking about me. I was selfish.

I saw myself in Catholic school: just one of the uniformed children learning through indoctrination. I saw Sister Francine, the principal, smashing a textbook on the top of my head for some minor infraction. I saw Sister Mary Vincent digging her fingernails into my bicep and dragging me into the coat closet as punishment for who knows what unauthorized deeds. Did those things make me a bad person?

Then I saw high school and a fight I had with a guy named Greg Kallman. I started it just so I could look tough in front of a few onlookers. But I got my ass kicked after school up on the football field, and thankfully, no one was there to watch. Did that make me a bad person?

I saw myself in uniform after joining the army. I was an MP, but I bent the rules a bit by doing drugs. There were lots of us doing it at the time.

Then, I dated a married woman, and her husband came after me with a gun. Well, that didn’t make me a good guy, but I never hurt anyone.

I saw my first wedding, a simple affair in the basement of a real estate office, and I remembered the giant pot of chili my sister made to accompany the cheese tray we got from the grocery store. We really just wanted to live together, but her parents wouldn't hear of it, so we got married. I should have gotten some points for that, but in retrospect, we never should have married in the first place. During the marriage, I wasn't faithful, and the marriage ended in divorce. I know I was wrong to have done that and it made me a bad person, but I have remained faithful in my marriages for the rest of my life.

But over the years, I've stayed inside my head. Without verbalizing it, I've harbored thoughts of prejudice regarding race or status and demeaning thoughts about rednecks, gays, and trans people. I’ve been jealous of what others have and felt I deserved more. Does all that make me a bad person?

In the Catholic faith, we learned about the places or states of existence: heaven, hell, purgatory, and limbo. The latter was only for babies who died before being christened. If you led a good life, obeyed the Ten Commandments, and confessed your sins on your deathbed, you deserved a place in heaven. If you strayed from the straight and narrow path but still were a believer and confessed your sins at confession, you might find a place in purgatory for some time, to be determined by God at some later date. If you were a non-believer or a bad person who failed to confess your sins and felt no remorse, you would go straight to hell.

At this point, I’m hoping that one of the dark tunnels would lead to purgatory because I knew, with my history of digression, I would have to do penance before passing through the gates of heaven...if, in fact, there is such a place. The other tunnel might take me back to my family, where I would remember all of this, continue to live a good life, and suppress negative thoughts about others. But I would have to choose. And I would have to do it now.

I know I’ve done some bad things and had so many bad thoughts in my life but I recognize my failings and I’m sorry. I guess these memories are a confession of sorts, though not one that includes forgiveness.

I knew this was serious, but throughout my life, I've been criticized for making light of serious moments, and all I could think of was the childish way of choosing…Eeny, meany, miney, mo…catch a tiger by the toe. If he hollers, make him pay $50 every day. Icka, bicka, soda cracker, icka, bicka, boo…My mother told me to pick this very best one. Settling on the right tunnel, I consciously leaned in, closed my eyes, and said, “I’m going back.” I was immediately overwhelmed by darkness and then came into the light.

Then, I found myself lying on the floor of the airplane with people kneeling over me. One man held the paddles of a defibrillator in his hands and yelled, "CLEAR!” then I felt a shock to my chest. I gasped and coughed, and my eyes opened wide.

"He's back," the man yelled, and there was a cheer from the other passengers.

I tried to sit up, but the man pushed my shoulder back to the carpeted surface and said, "Stay down. We will be landing in a few minutes, and there will be a stretcher to take you to the hospital. You've had a heart attack, but you're okay now… Just breath.

“How long was I out? I asked.

“About ten minutes but you had CPR almost the whole time. I’m a doctor. The captain turned the plane around and we’re heading back to Denver.”

“I’m sorry,” I said.

“Don’t worry,” the doctor said. “It’s not your fault. You had a heart attack.”

“I’m sorry about so many things that I’ve said and done throughout my life especially if I hurt others. I just had to say it out loud.”