I was four years old when it happened. An unblemished child overflowing with good deeds, not one single sin flowing through my veins. I was an innocent, thrust into this intimidating universe, expected to understand. In my chestnut brown eyes that twinkled with hope, nothing was wrong. No liars. No crime. No evil.
My mum was spiralling a roundabout when the incident occurred. I don’t know where we were headed; it was all a blurry chaotic mess like a tangled tape of a broken cassette, unable to be detangled and put right. A part of me thinks that my mum doesn’t want to remember, the traumatic memory overwhelms her despite it being over twelve years ago.
She drove as I stared dreamily in awe at the cars, the streets and the people rushing in smudges of colour outside the window. I’d brought a small purse with me for the journey but had clumsily dropped it. I frantically searched for the purse and stirred in panic at the thought of losing it. Clearly I had an excessive amount of money in there…
My eyes darted around the floor of the car but it wasn’t there. So as an oblivious four year old I concluded that it must have fallen out of the car. Click. My seatbelt slithered away. Moments later the sound of the car door clanged back and forth and the realisation that I was no longer in the car hit my mum. Gone. Just like that. I had vanished into thin air.
|Me when I was younger|
My shaking mum pressed fiercely at the brakes and stopped at a harsh halt. I can’t even begin to imagine her reaction; the sheer horror of her daughter slipping through her fingers like minuscule grains of sand. To my mother’s relief I was found curled up in a ball at the side of a road, stunned and unable to speak, but surprisingly not a single tear sprang from my eyes.
I could’ve died. My existence instantly destroyed in a flash of confusion. But death stared into my wet eyes that day and mercifully gave me one last chance. Power and courage had managed to find its way back through my veins and into my heart. I lived.
How would things be different if I had been placed in a terrifying grave all those years ago? Would my mum have birthed my little sisters? How would my brother have coped knowing his little sister died at a very young age? Scary isn’t it? I look at my little sister now, who is coincidentally four years old, and can’t imagine life without her. We are all a huge piece in our family jigsaw.
|Me and my mum|
My death would have haunted my mum forever. She would never have forgiven herself. I wouldn’t have forgiven myself. It’s grief that kills people, not death. I wouldn’t have been able to have an education, I wouldn’t have had the long 2am chats with my brother, I wouldn’t have pushed myself out of my comfort zone and started this blog and I wouldn’t have known what life really felt like. From this tragic event I know that I would be an utter fool to waste this second chance. We, as humans, take the ability to breathe for granted and this escape from death’s clutches has taught me to never take my existence lightly. It is truly a gift that I am most certainly going to cherish.
Thanks so much for reading! I’ve decided not to post on Mondays and Fridays like I have been doing as I’ve realised that there’s a lot of unnecessary pressure to write posts so that they’re up on time. I want this space to be a hobby, not a chore, so I’ll now be posting whenever inspiration comes to me.
Have you had any near-death experiences?