One of the details, and there were many, that I left out of the podcast talking about my moms death, was a story she told in the legacy letter I mention that she had written before her death. 

This particular memory is one all 5 of her children share as well. Each of us undoubtedly has our own unique recollection of the day. I say this because it was 56 years ago and because my experience with the effect of traumatic events on people's memory is that we all do what we have to do to process and contain traumatic events. So each one of us might have a slightly different recollection of that day...and the days, weeks and months that followed.

It is a day in 1967. It is August. Mom, as she had done every summer of our lives had loaded her 5 children in the car to make the 3000 mile drive from our home in Southern California to the Blue Ridge mountains of Virginia, where, once there, we would stay, gloriously happy to be in the folds of her extended family, the only extended family us kids ever knew. Our father had no living family that we knew of and he was a periodic presence at best during these summer travels. Mom would travel different routes each year, trying to expose us to the National Parks and historical sights of all the lower states. We camped most of the time but every week or so we'd hit a Howard Johnson motel so we could play in the pool and sleep in real beds and she could use a phone to call her parents and our dad to let them all know we were safe and sound. When it was almost time for school to start, she'd race us back to California just in the nick of time for school. For me, the memories of our summers in Virginia are some of the happiest of my life. Her only brother Pete, and his wife Dorothy, had 6 kids and still lived in Virginia. The 11 of us cousins, as kids, loved all being together. 

The summer of '67, we were traveling in a retrofitted Chevy II camper van with a large enclosed carrier up top for all the camping gear and duffle bags. There were no other drivers yet in the family although brother Michael was 15, just shy of 16 and was learning to drive, he was not driving all of us that day. We also had a friend of Michael's with us from Virginia. A boy named Hank. I hardly would have remembered that except it is mentioned in mom's letter.

Mom had read about the Caverns in Carlsbad New Mexico where every night at dusk the bats leave the caves in search of food. It sounded spectacular to her and she wanted us all to get to see it. She had intended for us to reach the National Park in time to set up camp and get to the caves in time to see the bats leave. But we were running a little late. We had just crossed the plains of Southern Texas on a hot August day, when she saw a sign that said “Short cut to Carlsbad Caverns” with an arrow pointing down a lonely looking two lane paved road. She took the short cut. I can't say how far down this highway we were when, on a wide sweeping curve that dipped down and then back up, a rear tire blew on the van. She later admitted to driving too fast for that road. She lost control and the van rolled several times out into the desert.

A doctor said that it was the numbers of us inside the van that kept us from more serious injuries. The fact that we were 6 kids all tumbling over and over in the van, no restraints, bumping up against each other, kept us from colliding with sharper objects like the corner of the refrigerator. When the van, which was completely totaled, came to rest, what I remember most was the silence in the first immediate moments after the tumbling stopped.

The double side doors had been blown open but somehow we had miraculously stayed inside. All of us, except mom. The windshield was gone and the full luggage carrier was laying in the sand a ways away from the van. When we realized mom was not in the van, panic set in. Panic was already very present. Panic, fear and shock along with fairly minor bodily injuries were all very much present. One of us, walked over to the carrier, or perhaps two of us, I don't remember. But I do remember, when it was lifted, mom's seemingly lifeless body was beneath it. Then I remember screams and crying. I remember my sister, Melissa, and I running toward the pavement to flag down any approaching car asking them to please get help. There were no cell phones back then and I know that the car that finally came along then had to continue driving for quite a few miles before coming to anywhere with a phone. We chose to stay behind with our siblings and our mom. The youngest, Shannon, had wandered off and there was a brief moment of new waves of panic as we all tried to find her. The desert was littered with debris from the van. It looked like the van had exploded. All the groceries we had purchased earlier but had not yet put away, were scattered all over the place. Shannon was found squatting in the desert, with a stick, drawing in the sand. She was quiet for a long time after the accident and I now imagine how profound her trauma must have been. There was nothing like counseling at that time for traumatic events such as this. Or at least none that was ever offered to us. 

I feel certain that other motorists must have stopped but I can't recall that. I remember many ambulances and sirens and lights and I remember the kindness of every adult that we encountered. I have a vague memory of the small rural hospital emergency room outside of Carlsbad. I remember being told that our mom had not died but that she had suffered serious injuries and had been taken to surgery and I remember the fear when we learned we would all be farmed out to the kindness of strangers who had come once word spread about the accident. The couple who took me home with them that night were childless newly weds. They were kind and gentle and soft and patient. 

I don't remember how the authorities found out how to locate our dad who was in California, working. I'm pretty sure, he flew in the next day and took us all to see mom. He got hotel rooms so we could stay a few more days before we flew back to California, leaving mom hospitalized in Carlsbad. All of these memories are infused with fear and bewilderment. Then, at some point, she re-entered our lives. Once all the broken bones had healed enough for her to travel, she came home. And we carried on. That summer, was the last summer Michael ever traveled with us. He started working in the fishing industry the summer of his junior year, no longer available for our annual treks to Virginia. 

Fast forward to 1999. And mom is writing her legacy letter to her now adult children. 

What she had never shared with any of us about that day was what she had experienced in the accident. She didn't know for a very long time that what she had experienced was what has become known as a Near Death Experience, or an NDE. She described it this way in her letter and I quote her now,

“I remember the moment when I knew I had lost control of the van and my next memory,….. was of peaceful brightness. I was dimly aware of my body lying beneath the luggage rack which had been on top of the van. I could not see the van. I could hear a faint tinkling of crystal. I was comfortable and pain free. I was being lifted gently through a large tunnel of light where a group of caring figures waited. They were faceless but definitive. Two were grandmothers of mine that had both died before I was born. None of the figures felt like strangers. They said to me, “You may come now if you are ready, but you are not required to come at this time”. I felt delighted and pleased and then suddenly I remembered Shannon who had just turned 4 and Tara who was 7 and then Michael, Melissa and Sean, who, as early teenagers were fairly self sufficient but I knew, without any doubt, I wanted to raise them all and my wish was granted. I have no memory of the next 6 months with one major exception; a desperate need to see my children when I first woke up in the hospital. After they left my room, I become terrified that two of them had died and a second visit was arranged.” 

She goes on to explain that she had told no one about this 'encounter with Spirits'. Although she knew it had happened she was not as certain she could handle the ridicule from other people. My guess is, she was most afraid of how my dad would have reacted. But she does not say that. 

She goes on to explain to us how extremely meaningful that experience had been for her in the rest of her natural life. She wanted to share with us some of the things it had taught her. The number one thing, was that life after death is peaceful and full of love. She told me once that the only way she knew to describe it was 'pure love'. Think about that. The idea of something being that perfect. 

So, when she was diagnosed with this very serious illness, she knew she would die from it. And, she had not one iota of fear about what awaited her.

She had studied enough research to also believe she was a co-creator of her life. She somehow knew she would be allowed the time she needed to wrap things up with her kids; the time she needed to try to explain to each of us, and her nearest and dearest beloveds, what she had learned that day and in all the days that followed.

One of the most beautiful pieces of her later life, in my opinion, is that she did not squander the opportunity. She did not let the fear ruin the idea that what she had to share, mattered and would make a lasting difference in some lives. She did not fear ridicule or questioning. She was certain. She was sure that what she had to say was true.

So, when she told us that she would try to be an active angel in our lives, she also told us that she was uncertain that it works that way. She thought perhaps when we die we have other work to do around having lived a human life. She felt it was only natural that a soul might require more than a one time existence on Earth in order to begin to grow in understanding empathy, compassion and mercy. She believed that our Spirit Guides, sometimes called Angels, help us review the reasons for and the consequences of choices made during past lives so we can grow and expand and move closer to enlightenment. Not at all in a punitive or frightening manner, always through love. Believing this, she went on to say that in case she had a lot of work to do that would prevent her being an active angel in our lives, she knew she would always be as close to us as the nearest breeze.

I wanted to share this because in my own work in EOL, I have had very few people willing to talk about near death experiences they may have had. But very recently I had the privilege of being with a gentleman who was trying to determine how much harder he wanted to fight to stay alive. And in that conversation he mentioned being ventilated and airlifted during a health crises in which he died. He did not elaborate except to say he was so mad when he woke up and realized he was still alive. 

Several times, over the course of the next hour, he leaned into that piece of his life but said it was really emotional and hard to talk about. But it was there; it was a piece of his back story and was one that gave him that same sense of not being at all afraid of being dead. His struggle was with leaving his wife and leaving his grandchildren. I sensed a bit of fear about all of it, and then learned he was a Viet Nam vet. I have been part of soldiers lives as they are wrapping up their lives and my experience has been that they will often fear death. So learning that this man had seen active duty in a war made the sense I was getting that maybe he was a bit more afraid than he was willing to admit, make sense.

One WWII vet, after many months of visits shared with me that he was afraid to die because of the things he did in the war; the lives he ended brutally and without question. In his heart, he carried all the enemy soldiers he had killed and had for all the decades since the war. It was a beautiful and deeply emotional moment in our relationship. His fear was that when he died, they would be who would be waiting for him. His vision was that they would still be in their army fatigues and carrying bayonets. After some time and further discussion he was able to hold a different vision; that if they were there at all (and we both agreed that the possibility was quite real) that they would be there to welcome him in love and forgiveness. I did not have the sense that he was placating me or blowing smoke. We talked in too much detail and with too many tears for me to think he was not truly able to turn that vision into something he almost looked forward to after so many years of holding them with such love in his own heart, having asked for decades to be forgiven. I hope he was not disappointed.