FLOATING

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.

Alive.

 

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.

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