Dear Me,
Ten years. It is nearly ten years. Hard to grasp and even more challenging to comprehend all the blessings this uncomfortable situation you are now in has brought to us—you, who is me.
I don’t remember who we were talking to. I do remember our hospital room. The blocked windows. The position of the bed. Whoever it was, I think it was one of the doctors, the one who cared, was standing in front of us, leaning on the wall. I guess he must have been so exhausted. How do they work such long shifts and still care? You know, I hold this doctor in my heart. I always wish him well. Not only because he saved our lives, my life—yours. But because he also cared to see who we were. He was one of the few who actually looked into my eyes, during those long weeks.
Anyway, so I think it was him and someone else. I think our mom was there, sitting to the left of our bed. And we talked of what would be. Remember that moment? For you, it was a few weeks ago, maybe a year, or two ago, depending on when you read this letter I am writing to you—me. For me, it’s now ten years. Ten years. I do remember my words; I said something like “You’ll see, five years from now…”. That deep knowing, something is to evolve. And by now, it’s ten!
About four and a half years from the car crash, for me, it’s past. For you, it’s still in your future. We went to see a performance, based on the story of a woman injured in a shooting. She was treated in the same hospital and by the same doctors as I was. There was one powerful scene. I do hope you get to see it too, you know. The dancer took crepe paper— that paper that when it gets wet turns into a liquidy dough? As part of the performance, the dancer wore a red dress made from this paper, and once it got wet, it resembled blood. It was as if she swam in it, on the stage. Can you imagine how powerful it was to see this? I looked, and I cried. I looked and felt I was back in that day in the hospital when the nurse tried to help me up, and a sea of red fluids came out of the open wound you still have in your abdomen.
At the end, the woman, whose story this performance was based on, gave a short talk. You know how we never approach people in such situations. Well, there will be an additional one in the future, but I’ll share that in another letter. We waited for everyone to go first and then walked up to her. To thank her. It was so powerful. And resonated in ways I can’t express here. She asked for my story, our story; I shared a little. Other than the cause, we had a lot in common, the type of injuries, being a mom to young ones at the time, the hospital, and the team we both knew personally by then. She asked me when the car crash took place. I told her that that it was four and a half years earlier. You know what her response was? She said “Oh, it’s been only four and a half years. You are just at the beginning.” I was blown away. Four and a half years is nothing? Well, dear me, from the perspective of ten years, they indeed are. Healing takes time.
You were right about that five-year marker, I must say. That week of the yearly crash birthday I celebrate, I started integrating the physical shattering and the blessings of the Near-Death Experience. Something significant opened up that week.
Ten years. Ten years and I live in so many synchronicities that I constantly feel so blessed. So I know, it’s extremely painful now. Frustrating. And you worry for the girls, and what will be. No one is really willing to tell you what’s ahead. Make any prediction. I don’t know if telling will actually calm you. Would it have calmed me when I was lying in our hospital bed as you are now?
I will, knowing that maybe you won’t completely get it. I surely didn’t. Please understand that the doctors can’t tell you because what is to come is beyond their scope of seeing. It was beyond my scope. All I knew was that it was going to be OK. How do we define OK? Just that is so broad. I think you know that too. But then, I had no idea what this OK means. Focusing on the physical rehabilitation, I did not imagine how opening up to the energetics around us, saying yes to the gates that opened in the near-death experience we experienced, would be the healing source. That we, I—you, would find ourselves walking a new path, the path we always wished for too, a little different and unexpected, but so real. And more: so healing. Who ever imagined.
Dear Me. Trust what you know. You know it’s going to be OK, so listen to that sense, to that knowing that bubbles within you, even if it seems impossible. Even if it does not fit with any of what they tell you about your state. Trust yourself. The more you give energy to this knowing, the more you trust, the deeper and faster your healing will be. It’s me telling you that to you—ten years from now.
Love you.
Always.
Me.
While writing these Notes (I wish) I Wrote to Myself, I found myself bringing the teachings offered by my parenting journey and Near Death Experience into writing. The result is The Promise We Made: Three Universal Soul Promises We Made to Our Children 🙂
