Member-only story
A Personal Look at Near-Death Experiences
When the Grim Reaper blinks and walks away
She was the color of translucent, white wax. Ellen, my 21-year-old wife, resembled a corpse laid out for viewing.
It was the 4th of July, 1966, at the National Naval Hospital in Washington, DC. Ellen had just delivered our first daughter and must have ruptured a uterine artery because the delivery room had been splashed with her blood.
My knees grew weak when I saw her, and I had to sit down. I was a boot Navy Ensign, on the verge of being a widower and a single Dad.
"Don't die," I told her as I reached to hold her wrist. "Please don't die."
She opened her eyes and smiled.
Unknown to me, Ellen had been having a Near-Death Experience (NDE).
When we discussed the event later, she said she had felt a deep sense of unconditional love in every fiber of her being. Because there was no color where she was, she felt a split-second of loss. Then another wave of love washed over her, and she felt no regret.
After reviewing her life, "like turning pages in a book," and seeing white mounds she knew were others, she was given what she needed to bring back for me.
