Willoughby

When you die, you die. Your once warm, pulsating heart putters out, your once ballooned lungs leak air, and the unit that had operated as a whole perfect machine of parts and pieces ceases to be. The blood inside your veins stops moving. The electricity in your brain fizzles. And then it’s just a matter of time until the rigor mortis, the decomposition, the “dust to dust” exit from Earth. It’s science. 

Or so I thought. 

I was raised Catholic, and brought up with the ideas of Heaven, Hell, angels, and the afterlife. If you were good, Heaven was your reward. If you weren’t, you would suffer forever in Hell. And once you died, you could become an angel. Imagine that! For the longest time, I simply accepted everything I was told. Eventually, as I got older, I began to question a lot of things Biblical. That landed me in an unsettled pool of agnostic ideas, wallowing in the why and how of life. I wanted to believe in something after death, and angels, but how could you believe in something you were just told? Something you couldn’t see or prove? That was the state of things when something happened to knock me off my feet. Literally. 

When I died, it was just briefly. And I can’t even say I remember it. It all happened so quickly, and from behind me, so I didn’t even have a chance to be afraid of the oncoming car. I never went back and read the official report of how far my body sailed, how fast the car was going, or any of the details. By the time I came alive again later, there was too much recovery ahead to really pay attention to all of that. 

But, something remarkable happened that day. Something that shifted my world, and my view of what happens when you die. 

Laying on the ground, I was not awake. Yet, I saw everything. Most importantly, I saw Nanny and Uncle Glen there with me. Nanny had died years earlier from a stroke. She had called the ambulance herself, knowing something was not right. Not long after, she passed away peacefully in the hospital with everyone who loved her able to say a last goodbye. And there she was, with me again outside in the street. Only, it wasn’t the Nanny in the hospital bed. The Nanny with gray hair, soft wrinkles, and smile to let you know you were the most important person in the world. It was Nanny that I had seen in old photos: brown hair perfectly plastered in an up-do, held semi-permanently in place with hairspray, clothing that matched the time as well. And there was Uncle Glen! Nanny’s youngest of six children, who unexpectedly passed away two years after her from a heart condition. The Uncle Glen I had known all my life was a bike-riding, skiing, hiking, and forever bald man. This Uncle Glen was…still bald! I read somewhere once that when you die, you return to the time in your life that was your prime. Maybe your happiest, or the time you would want to return back to if you ever could. For Nanny, it must have been the time in her life where she was younger and loving life with friends and family. For Uncle Glen, it must not have been too far off from the age he passed away, which was still rather young. 

I looked at them, standing there talking to each other, smiling and looking over at me. I couldn’t quite hear what they were saying. There was a wavy quiet all around me that made everything calm and peaceful. There was a blue light all around us, as I looked up and down the street. I wanted to join in with Nanny and Uncle Glen, to hear what they were saying. Nanny looked at me once again, nodded gently, and gave me the smile that I remembered. That had not changed. Nor did the look in her eyes, gazing over at me. The look that all my life made me feel like I was important, and could do great things. It was a look that empowered me, made me try my best in everything I did. I remember always wanting to tell Nanny about everything I had done in school, then when I got my first job, and every momentous moment I went through. 

That’s where the memory ends. And my life began again. 

After waking up from a coma, I was told what had happened, and I began the recovery process. Everything was hazy, but I was alive. I didn’t go with Nanny and Uncle Glen. The blue light was gone. 

But with a bad head injury, broken neck and body, I decided I imagined it all. Back to the pool of questions and doubts and not believing. It made my head hurt more to try to unravel it all. 

Weeks passed, and I was transferred to a rehab facility for therapies and care. I got along well with my very much older roommate, who was there recovering from a stroke just like Nanny had. Life was a series of therapy sessions, freezing cold showers in my wheelchair, unfinished meals, and hope to get out. 

I couldn’t help but think of what had happened though, seeing Nanny and Uncle Glen. I didn’t tell a soul about that memory, not believing it was a real memory at all. Because of my difficulty seeing again after the accident, I couldn’t read to pass the time. There was no television in the room. With my neck in a brace 24/7 I couldn’t look down at my phone. So I mostly sat and thought about things. About life. And death. And I asked for a sign. Something to tell me what I was remembering really was a memory and not my imagination. I don’t even know to whom or what I was requesting this from. 

The following day, I finished up with my therapy session early. I was taken back to my room to rest before lunch was served. My roommate was still in the therapy gym, completing her exercises. I sat in the quiet room, and didn’t notice when someone walked in until she was leaning on the windowsill by my roommate’s bed. When did she walk in? Did I doze off and miss her coming in? 

“Hi! I’m just here to see Marie,” the woman said with a smile. She had short brown hair, kind eyes, and a long dark coat. Maybe brown? Or was it black? I couldn’t quite tell. 

“I’m sorry, she’s still down in the therapy gym. You’re welcome to stay until she gets back, but I’m not sure how long she’ll be today,” I told her. This was Marie’s first visitor since I arrived. I was sure she’d want to visit with her. 

“Where’re you from?” she asked me. 

“Not far, just up on the mountain actually,” I replied. 

“So then you know Willoughby,” she said. It wasn’t a question, but a statement. 

“No, I don’t think I do,” I replied, not knowing where she was referring to.

“I’m sure of it. You know Willoughby,” she insisted, her kind eyes never leaving mine and her smile never fading. The way the light came in the window behind her gave her a glow. If I could have shaken my head at the sight to gain clarity, I would have. 

“Maybe it’s an area I’m not familiar with there? Once I’m out of here, I can look around for it. Is it a nice area?” I asked. 

“It’s very nice, indeed. But you won’t need to look for it. My, it is getting late, isn’t it. I best get along now. It was lovely to meet you, dear,” she said, and made her way out the door. 

I barely had time to register the unexpected visit, when Marie was wheeled into the room by the nurse. 

“Oh Marie, I’m sorry, you just missed your visitor. I didn’t get her name, but she was very nice. Were you expecting someone today?” I asked.

“Me? Oh no, dear. I don’t have any family left now. It’s just me. I can’t imagine who would be visiting me?” Marie said, clearly puzzled. 

Lunch was brought in, and Marie opened her word search book and began to eat her lukewarm vanilla pudding. 

Willoughby. Willoughby. Why was that name still familiar somehow? 

Then I realized where I had heard it. It was the name of a town in an episode of The Twilight Zone that my uncles had always talked about. Uncle Glen, Uncle Bill, Uncle Joe and John - they talked about the train going to Willoughby where there were no worries. 

My sign. 

The one I had asked for, brought mysteriously by a woman I never saw again. But it was enough. It was a way my Uncle Glen let me know that what I saw was real. It was the connection to him I needed, his way of telling me not to worry anymore. I pictured the looks on Nanny and Uncle Glen’s faces in my memory. What they knew, and what they had been talking about, was undoubtedly that it wasn’t my time to leave yet and be with them. 

I don’t expect anyone to believe my story. Or, maybe some would like to. And everyone needs to come to terms with what happens after this life ends individually. But as far as my journey, it took nearly dying to live life knowing that there’s something beyond.