Let’s talk about death

Ok—maybe that’s not the best conversation starter....or is it?

I’m one of the lucky few who have died and made it back to tell the tale.  Except for me, there’s no tale to tell.  Despite being without a pulse, in a clinical death state for 40 minutes or more, I didn’t see “the light.” I didn’t commune with energy forms of deceased relatives, I didn’t get to visit beloved pets that have passed on—just blackness. Despite being so incredibly lucky to be alive, I felt a bit ripped off.

I have never been comfortable with the idea of dying.  I’m just not “ok” with it.  I remember as a kid when I first understood the fact that I would die one day. I cried, and cried, and cried. I was inconsolable. My Dad, who was a great intellect—but came up a bit short in the emotional language department—attempted to console me by quoting Einstein’s theory that energy cannot be created or destroyed, it can only change in form. “Oh, so I’ll be worm food,” I thought—not so comforting. I haven’t found much comfort about death anywhere else I’ve searched throughout my life. I envy people that brazenly state that they are not afraid to die—but I have to admit that I am also a bit suspicious of them. 

After my heart attack, I went to a psychiatrist who specializes in the brain and hypnosis. I picked him out specifically because of these specializations. I was interested in getting hypnotized, to see if I could remember anything that I might have experienced on the other side. He was amazed that I didn’t suffer a lot more brain damage than I did. He cautioned me against hypnosis for two reasons: 1. I could possibly remember some very traumatic things, and 2. I could “make up” memories that are pieced-together stories that I have been told surrounding the scene of my heart attack. He also told me that short-term memories are stored temporarily in one part of the brain, and then transferred somewhere else for long-term storage—and that transfer never happened when my heart stopped. The memories of what happened, as my brain experienced it, may be gone forever. 

So maybe that’s just what happens to people that have heart attacks like mine, right? Well, no. I have since read stories of others that had heart attacks exactly like mine—but they got the full “see the light” experience with all the trimmings. I’ve read that the brain sends out the full array of “feel good” chemicals when it thinks you’re going to die.  It’s basically like a final love letter from your brain to your body. Is it possible my brain knew I would survive? Tricky brain. 

I’d love to wrap this up with a shiny bow and say that I’ve found the answers and comfort I long for--but I haven’t.  I do feel a deep commitment to coming to terms with my death before it happens. I want to look into my children’s eyes on my deathbed and tell them, “It’s ok.”  I suppose I will say that anyway—but I’d like to really mean it. The Buddhists say we should reflect on death daily, so I’ve got that part covered—and I am incredibly grateful that I have a second chance at growing old. I have come to know and accept things in life that I couldn’t conceive of as a young man—so perhaps there is hope. I’m certainly open to the idea. Perhaps that’s the first step.

—Scott