I am floating, floating high above the room, floating, floating – I can’t see my hands
and I can’t see my feet. I am floating, floating, wondering how I got here–but oh,
how peaceful it is, in this dreamlike place.
I can’t remember my name; I can’t remember a thing, floating, floating, until I look
down into the room and see a familiar face, lying on a bed, tubes going into her arms–
but whose face is it? and then I know who it is, and I hear the voices of the people
in the room; my mother, my father, my brother and sister, calling out my name. I am
floating, floating, trying to make up my mind– do I stay or do I go?
“Mama” I cry and with a whoosh and an incredible pain, I am back in my body.
No longer floating.
Sandra Lee Smith
Day 28, January 28, 2015
Updated July 17, 2018
Sandy’s note – my father’s sister, our Aunt Annie, once described an experience similar to what I have attempted to write about–I don’t remember all of the details–just that she was very ill, and she described being in a room, above everyone and everything, and that she had to decide whether to go or whether to stay. She described her return to her body as being painful.