Memoirs:Death
What is Death, we all ask the same question. I wonder all the time about Death. The unknown.
A serious motor vehicle accident in August, 1989, left me dead, for moments, twice.Our Toyota rolled 1.5 times on the gravel road between Marble Bar and Port Hedland, in North Western Australia, due to the rear axle snapping when we hit the brakes to avoid the bullocks crossing the dirt road.

My husband, 13month old son, 4 year old daughter and a family friend were all in the vehicle.
My son only had bruising to his shoulders where his infant seat restraints had held him and his seat upside down till help came along. My daughter and husband were treated at Port Hedland hospital and then flown through to the major hospitals in the City of Perth WA, some

1800 ks away. I was taken straight through on the first Flying Doctor plane available but because of my 'death' in mid air, the plain was diverted to the nearest town being Carnarvon, on the coast, to revive me again.

My daughter had severe head injuries and was on life support for 4days as she also suffered a mini stroke. She still bears ailments from the same accident. I was in a coma for eight days and I know I had some strange 'dreams' during those eight days. I was in a cage in a hospital somewhere and relations I had no recent contact with were coming to visit me. To look at me on display on a bed covered with a cage. The devil was there too only he was dressed like a person.

When, miraculously, I came out of the coma, I asked where the cage was and the nursing staff said it was the effect of the medication. As I tried to focus on where I was and tubes were being gently removed from my throat I saw him. He stood at the far end of my hospital bed.
His eyes were piercing, piercing through the slight focus I had managed to gain through the haze of drugs being dripped into my almost useless body. Those eyes, how could they be mistaken. The sardonic smile. The greyness. Like a Shroud it hung. His Aura.

The nurse who was caring for me introduced me to him as I recalled in the fogginess of my brain. He was the hospital Priest attached to the main Catholic church. He was the man I saw in my 'death'. He was the devil. I smiled a sardonic smile back and politely refused to speak with him.

Now in all reality, yes I was drugged, but I know what I saw and I know I had that experience. I was spared like others for what I can only work out to be a reason for something. Due to the turbulent life that has truly engulfed, it can only be to be a hope for someone. An inspiration.
Death has taken my baby at 4hours old in 1968. Death took my young brother at age twenty by suicide. Death has taken my father, my older brother and grandparents. Death is not choosy.
The right to come back must be decided by someone, something.

Any comments on this article will be extremely welcome.

Learn more about this author, Linda Hill.
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