The Crash Took the Car but Something Sent Me Back

The light was green. I want that on the record, because the first thing everyone asks is whether I ran it. It was green, and I was singing along to something on the radio, and then a delivery truck came through the red on my left and the world ended in a single white sound.

There was no pain. That is what I need people to understand. There was a bang so total it did not even register as noise, and then there was nothing to do with the car at all. I was somewhere else, and it was quiet, and it was warm, and I was moving down a long dark passage with a light growing at the end of it, and I felt more at peace than I had felt in years of ordinary living.

I remember being surprised at how little I minded. I had a life. I had bills and a job I half liked and a son of nine years old at home, and yet in that tunnel none of the panic that should have been there was there. The light ahead was gentle and it wanted me, and I wanted it, and I had no doubt at all that whatever waited was good.

But before I reached it, I felt a presence beside me, and I have thought for four years about how to describe it and I still cannot, except to say it was made of the same warmth as the light, and it knew me completely, every mean and small and good thing I had ever done, and it loved me anyway. And it did not speak in words, but the meaning arrived in me whole: not yet, your boy is not ready, go back and finish.