Sam Severn

CHAPTER ONEThe Unheard

The scream of tires rings endless in Jason’s memory. It will happen any second now, again. The moment replaying itself over and over. The yellow school bus pulls up across the street from his cedar-hedged suburban house in the morning fog. The air brakes hiss, the bus driver flashes his lights, signals Jason. “Judith, you’re late, hurry!” Jason in his dusty-maroon terrycloth bathrobe calls out, his 7-year-old daughter finishing breakfast and rushing headlong through the kitchen, while his wife Sarah smiles and tunes the radio to classic rock, playing “Come As You Are.” Then out the front door Judith flies, school books and lunch pail clutched to her chest, down the cement steps and across the misty lawn. Jason at the curb, chuckling at the little girl’s messy hair and Big Bird sweatshirt, waving her to stop for a morning kiss on the cheek. Then off Judith races, smiling and laughing and waving back, excited to see her best friends Katie and Jasmine, eager to hear them fawn over her family trip to Chuck E. Cheese’s the night before, and to reach the school bus in time through the fog.

One second later it happens. As Judith is leaving the curb and crossing the street, a wind blows straight past Jason. A car horn blasts, tires screech, and the Oldsmobile Cutlass belonging to his elderly neighbor Reuben rushes by, close enough to ruffle the flaps of Jason’s terrycloth robe. Instantly Jason’s face turns chalk white. Like a marble statue he stands, unable to move. He wants to raise his hands, wants to scream, wants to cry out to her “Run Judith! Run! Move!” and wants to claw at the air to get there in time. Instead he watches helplessly as the car with its horn blaring and its massive 382 engine churning careens wildly past him, plowing by the flashing red warning lights of the bus, shearing off its metal STOP FOR CHILDREN sign, crossing the white line and plunging relentlessly ahead with its high beams pulsating and motor bellowing. As it roars past Jason his daughter’s laugh, high and innocent, is cut off by the scream of impact. Then silence.

Seconds later Jason hears the whine of police sirens, the yelling voices. They’re screaming in his ears. And because it’s too late, again—just as it will always be too late—Jason senses the impenetrable darkness coming for him. He feels the rushing icy fog envelop him, swallowing him. Clawing at the walls of fog he screams out “Let me alone! Give me peace! Please!” as the darkness crashes over him and carries him off, ripping him from this world into deafening madness. And as he plummets into an abyss Jason Marks is plunged again into an even deeper darkness.

# # #

Jason woke with a start, trembling. His face was plastered with sweat, his hands clawing at his pillow. He jerked upright and gasped, orienting himself, waiting for the nightmare to let go. At the edge of his vision he saw the bedstand, then the clock. It was 3 A.M.

Stunned, Jason fell back and stared into the darkness. His daughter’s nightmarish screams still flooded his ears. Releasing the pillow from his grasp, he pushed the dream away. Still his brain remained on fire with the vision — his beloved Judith being crushed by the Cutlass’ massive engine, his neighbor Reuben slamming on the brakes after it was too late. The dream haunted him. Being yanked back to the reality of Judith’s death was even worse. Reality slashed like a razor blade inside his pulsating skull. Even paving over the black skid marks on the street in front of his family home had failed to ease his torment. He felt trapped in a fiery pit of Hell and wanted freedom, escape from the dream, the heartbreak, the pain, the tormenting accusations of self-blame. I don’t want to see this anymore! his soul cried out.

But there was no escape. With a sinking heart, Jason realized there never would be. Always the floodtides of grief would come crashing in on him. Life without Judith! How could he go on?

His heart fluttering, Jason rolled over. His wife Sarah was awake and watching him.

“Jason?” she asked, in a soothing voice. “Honey, you okay?”

“It’s nothing,” Jason managed. His voice shook. He took a deeper breath and sighed. “Go back to sleep.”

Sarah wiped his sweating forehead with her fingers, gently dabbing away the wetness. She stroked her husband’s shaking hand. “What’s going on?” she sleepily asked.

Jason tried to speak. Perspiration dripped from his brow. The flutter in his chest began to thud and pound. He gasped for air and tried to turn away, but Sarah touched his face and drew him gently back.

“Take a breath, Jason. Relax. Inhale.”

Jason took a breath, exhaled, met his wife’s serene gaze. He stared at her, his eyes wide, his mind spinning. Shame and disgust burned through him. All he wanted in this moment was to hide. “Look at me!” he blurted out, his face red. “Look at me!” he yelled, his voice cracking with the words, as tears streamed from his swollen eye sockets. “It’s been two years! And still I keep blaming myself, and having nightmares about Judith, the accident, and — and — !”

Sarah slid her arms around him. “Oh, Jason,” she whispered, searching his face, kissing his eyelids. They lay that way, Jason’s thoughts trapped in a dark place no light could ever reach. He felt lost in a maze of self-hatred, while Sarah stroked his tangled hair, sobbing as she curled into a ball of her own grief.

Twenty minutes later, his pillow drenched with tears, Sarah sleeping peacefully, Jason sat up. He rubbed his face, moved his legs over to the side of the mattress, and crawled out of bed. Suddenly he felt a wild loneliness, and a desperate need to visit his daughter’s room.

He sleepwalked down the hallway. He drifted past the bathroom, noticing the wall where he and Sarah had scratched in pencil, inch by inch and year by year, how tall Judith had grown. Reaching his daughter’s doorway he swayed. He closed his eyes, then opened them again. As he did, the blackness in the room leaped out at him like an uneasy spirit.

Turn on the lights. You’ll be able to see better, Jason scolded himself. But once he touched the switch he felt unable to move, controlled by a clawing need to remain in the dark.

From the doorway Jason stared in. He could just make out the room. Posters of Pokémon characters enshrined on the pink walls. Little-girl perfume-infused unicorn pillows on the rainbow-quilted bedspread. Sneakers neatly stacked under the bed where she’d last placed them. Jason smiled to himself. When Judith was a baby, he had crept here every midnight to watch her sleep. That year, Sarah brought Judith into their bed, covering it with extra blankets, certain their child would freeze to death. Jason chuckled at the memory. Jason loved Judith like crazy. Even her second-grade teacher Mr. Shapiro said she was going to grow to be a real beauty, a heartbreaker. Yet that was a lie, a fantasy; Judith would never grow. She would remain frozen in time in this room, and in a time and place Jason couldn’t escape.

Two years dead now, Jason’s brain sighed. Two years since a piece of his life had died. Still he blamed himself. Why hadn’t he checked both ways before letting her cross the street? Why hadn’t he walked Judith safely to the bus? It burned in him — the knowledge, the disgust, the shame that he hadn’t protected her, saved her.

Stop it, his mind warned. You can’t keep fixating on this. He could feel them now, the drizzle of tears surging. I’ve got to get away from here, he thought. Away from this room, before my thudding heart explodes!

But the longer Jason stood there, his daughter’s belongings tugging at his heart, the more his legs turned to mud. Thoughts clouded his sleepless mind. He kept seeing Judith’s casket, carried on the shoulders of her grandfathers, uncles and cousins before being placed in the black hearse. How he wished he could hear sweet Judith’s voice again, just one more time! How he wished the dead could reach out and speak to him!

Yet it was insane to wish this. Death was everlasting. Nothing about life made sense. And trying to find reason in the chaos was madness.

Wiping his eyes, his breath coming faster and faster, Jason left his daughter’s room, and stumbled back to bed.

Crawling under the covers, Jason shivered. There was a darkness enveloping him here too, threatening to swallow him, in the sacred sanctuary of his own bed. Only wishing he could see Judith again offered peace. Head throbbing, he lay back on his pillow, and pictured his daughter serenely floating and smiling above him. She hovered over Jason, up by the ceiling, her golden hair spilling down and filling his vision.

“Our little girl is looking down at us,” Sarah once told him. “Watching over us from Heaven.” It was this hope Jason latched onto. Yet the moment Jason blinked away the tears and opened his eyes, she was gone.

Sarah was sitting up in bed now. “Jason, what’s wrong?” she asked, searching his face. “Talk to me.” Seeing her loving eyes, Jason broke out in sobs and hugged her tighter against him.

Sarah touched his faced, caressed his arm. Sensing he was at the edge of a nervous breakdown, she traced her fingers down his tear-stained cheek. “Never mind,” she said. “Just take it one step at a time, Love.” Her voice was calm, her heart searching for something to erase the burden of his pain.

“But what can I do?” Jason asked, confused.

“Get back to your writing. You said yourself your writing has always filled the void, the empty spaces. What about the book on Vincent van Gogh you were writing? You said your agent was crazy about it.”

Jason’s bloodshot eyes searched hers. “Sure,” he said, “of course, you’re right.” And she was right; Jason had been obsessed with van Gogh’s work since early boyhood, paintings like Sunflowers and Starry Night a coping mechanism for Jason’s own emotional struggles. After Judith’s funeral, he’d turned to van Gogh’s art and his tormented letters to his brother, Theo, as a path to understanding his own suffering and turmoil.

Jason pictured those paintings now. Slowly the overpowering aloneness inside him melted. Miraculously, the terror of facing life without his daughter evaporated; he seemed almost happy. And Sarah was smiling at him now. God, Jason thought, she is so beautiful. Sarah had always been his bedrock, his inner compass, always filled him with hope, even during his bleakest times.

“The nightmares will pass,” Sarah said, resting a hand on Jason’s arm. “Everything will be fine in the morning.”

“Yes, fine,” Jason repeated. “Everything will be fine. You’re right.”

Sarah continued to smile, and after a moment Jason smiled uncertainly back.

“Good night, Jason,” she said, leaning forward to caress his cheekbone. “Sleep well, baby,” she murmured, and turned back onto her side.

Jason nodded. He lay on his back and took a few deep breaths, a feeling of hope starting to sink in. Still he stared up at the ceiling, waiting for the vision of his floating daughter to return. Waiting. And waiting. No Judith came. Only emptiness and silence, mocking him. Crushing him. Finally his hope flared out, and Jason closed his eyes, seeking freedom from the agony and the blame, praying for forgiveness, praying for peace. But all he found in the darkness was more silence, and his prayers went unheard.

PROLOGUEThe After Life

The country road stretches ahead, twisting and winding toward Pennsylvania Route 113. In the moonlight the two-lane asphalt glimmers. The few icebox houses we’ve passed are deserted, and the December stars shine high in the sky, for it is nearly midnight.

A single car, a 1987 Ford Bronco, lies at the bottom of a ravine on this road, flipped on its side, windshield shattered, roof smashed.

Slumped behind the Bronco’s wheel, moaning in pain in the wreckage, is my boyfriend Tony. The steering wheel has crushed Tony’s lung, and is rammed against his chest, stopping the oxygen to his brain. He drifts in and out of consciousness.

I’m in the passenger seat. Broken glass, mud and blood trickle in sheets down my face. It’s the 11th of December 1998, and I am 18 years old.

“Dorothy?” Tony murmurs, gazing dizzily around. “Is Dorothy OK?” He closes his eyes, his throat gurgling unintelligible words. “Help, we need help,” he groans, raising his head to look at me. Then Tony buries his face against the wheel and falls silent.

Please God, my thoughts whisper. Help us. How did this happen? How did we get here?

Minutes before, we’d been driving to a high school party in nearby Chester Springs. Upon arrival, Tony and I were turned away at the door. Seeing my disappointment, Tony gently grabbed my hand.

“Let’s go,” he said, nodding back toward his Bronco. “We’ll find the next party.”

As we drove off, Tony stared into the rearview mirror, certain he saw a police officer approaching the party house we’d just left. This made him panic, pushing the Bronco to full-throttle.

Veering onto two-lane Kimberton Road, at the intersection to Route 113, he missed the turn, steering straight into a farmer’s pasture, not seeing that ahead of us lay a 15-foot drop.

The car plummeted, nose-first, crashing into the ground at high speed, plunging to the bottom of a muddy ravine.

For what seemed like an eternity we sat trapped there. Now blinking my eyes, I feel blood dribble from my hairline. I struggle, unable to move, wedged into my seat by the locked safety belt.

We wait. Five minutes. Ten. I talk to Tony, begging to hear his voice, but he doesn’t answer. The car is a jumble of mud and shattered glass. Closing my eyes, I try to shut this vision out, to shut everything out, letting my mind drift.

A flash of fear hits me. Suddenly I don’t feel any pain. I don’t feel my arms, my legs. I don’t feel anything.

As I sink into unconsciousness, I experience a powerful force pulling me from Tony’s car. What is this? As I gaze up, an opening, a dark space appears. My body is propelled into darkness, down a channel, a tunnel, moving at high speed. As the channel widens I’m embraced by a peaceful, blinding white light. The light is filled with love. The light is repairing my wounds, healing my heart. I hear music—magnificent music, the most beautiful music emanating from all around me, pouring into me like the piercing love of the light.

The light hugs me, comforts me, holds me as I move with it, higher and higher. It feels like home. I float in the love and comfort and arms of the light. A sense of warmth and peace engulfs me.

Please God, let me stay here.

I listen, hearing a tranquil voice in my head. “My daughter Dorothy, it is not your time. There is too much work to be done.” There’s no judgment in the voice, only pure love. I surrender to the voice, and the light claims me, as I slip into its radiant arms.

At that moment I hear a grinding, mechanical shriek. The light fades. It becomes a pinprick, a tiny speck in the distance. The channel widens. I’m being drawn by unseen hands back toward the end of the tunnel.

Can I choose to go back? No. The tunnel widens. I’m traveling at greater and greater speed. I wake to loud voices, to hands jerking me out of the passenger seat, lifting me out of the vehicle, placing me in an ambulance. I hear rescue teams scurrying around, urgently trying to remove Tony from the Bronco, their voices frightened, hopeless. I want to reach out, to hug Tony, hold his hand, tell him everything’s going to be okay. In a panic I’m screaming and crying for the medics to let me go.

The hands of the medics gently stroke my head. Their voices whisper to me. I have come back, I realize. I’ve reawakened, and I’ve survived death—my first death. I am no longer in the light.

I’m alive.

# # #

Looking back on that December night, I recall the terror I’d felt, waiting for rescue. Yet in that moment of near-death, my “lifeless” body radiated life, as the “Light” (as I later referred to it) cradled and carried me, revealing a bold new future to me. You don’t have to die, it whispered, to be connected to the Light. You can live free of fear, connected in service to the Light, to all that is.

The Light showed me the power of redemption and forgiveness. The Light revealed my purpose. The Light offered me a vision of what my life almost was, and what it still could be. My first near-death experience was the first step toward a second chance, a rebirth, a new life.

This book is my story. This is my truth, my testament, my reawakening. This is my transformation.

This is my after life.

CHAPTER ONEMy Accident and First Near-Death

The next morning, I woke in intensive care, in a local hospital. I lay in bed, wracked by pain, slipping in and out of nightmares, floating in and out of consciousness. In my lucid moments, I queried the nurses, wondering what had happened to Tony. Later I learned Tony had been flown to the Hospital of the University of Pennsylvania, fifty miles away, where he was in critical care.

Miraculously, my injuries were neither severe nor life-threatening: a concussion, 150 stitches in my face, and a bruised heart. How is that possible? I wondered. As I waited to hear further news about Tony, and the hospital refused to answer my questions, a panic washed over me. What is everyone hiding?

A week later, after being discharged, I received a phone call from Tony’s brother-in-law. Tony was in a coma. He’d suffered a traumatic brain injury. Beginning at the scene of the accident and after admittance to the hospital, he’d died 9 times that night, each time being resuscitated back to life. The lack of oxygen had caused an immense amount of pressure to build in his brain. As his brain swelled, permanent neurological damage resulted. The odds were he would never awaken.

As I hung up, shock vibrated through me. My mind was unable to process the news; it felt as if something inside of me cracked, and I was unable to breathe. I had no idea what a coma was, other than what I’d seen on TV, where the characters seemed to blink their eyes and awaken in what seemed to be a magical moment.

As I rushed to the hospital, an iron-clad resolution built in me. Perhaps they’ll use a wonder drug on Tony, I concluded, refusing to surrender hope. Approaching the Critical Care ward, down a white corridor that seemed to stretch forever, I was met at the doors by Tony’s mother. A stoic look of calm covered this petite woman’s face.

“Dorothy,” she said, gripping my hand, “life can be hard and challenging. This is one of those times.” I nodded. As our eyes met, suddenly her face became more serious. “Never let life or its difficulties make you bitter, or change you in any way.”

Though I would carry these words with me for the rest of my life, at that moment I wondered what she meant. I expected my voice, my presence would awaken Tony. Then the doors swung back. Walking down the long corridor with Tony at the end, I was ushered into a new world, a world flipped upside-down, a world where grief and death loomed over everything.

Where my life would never be the same.

# # #

Standing at the foot of Tony’s bed, I couldn’t believe what I was seeing.

Tony had been a surfer, a wrestler, muscular and fierce, full of fire and passion. Now he lay in intensive care, in a coma, surrounded by machines—so many machines that there wasn’t room for visitors. Monitors beeped his erratic heartbeat. Life-support machinery gurgled and swished. Tubes fed into his body from everywhere, a bag collecting his urine. The tube embedded in his throat seemed so painful that it took my breath away.

I stared frozen, in disbelief, shocked to see Tony so fragile, so incapacitated. I didn’t recognize the Tony I’d once known, the free spirit who loved the ocean, the wrestler who listened to the Grateful Dead and Ziggy Marley. Only yesterday we’d dared to dream of going off to college together—Tony to Roanoke in Virginia, me to Mount St. Mary’s in Maryland.

One moment, he was a beautiful boy with teenage hopes and dreams—the next, he was a coma patient hooked up to machines and struggling to survive.

My mind grappled to understand, grasping for words of comfort, wanting to say, I’m here, Tony. I am here with you. The whoosh of the respirator reverberated over the pounding of blood in my ears. Yet I couldn’t stop looking at him. I felt the need to hold Tony’s hand, to touch his head, to sing to him, to talk to him. I wouldn’t allow myself to believe he wasn’t going to be healed, that Tony wasn’t going to make it. As long as I believed my prayers would be answered, I had hope.

Anything less was never an option.