I almost died when I was 9 years old.

One hot summer afternoon during day camp, I wanted so badly to careen down a rock slide with the other kids. But I wasn’t a swimmer.

Not wanting to be left behind, I wrapped my arms around the waist of another child and held on for dear life. When we reached the bottom, unable to stand up, I was pulled down by the undertow.

Gasping for breath, I felt panic and terror.  When I finally stopped struggling, a surprising sense of warmth and comfort took over.  Cradled by the water, images began to appear before me… faces of people I loved, smiling and laughing, snapshots of my favorite memories… glimpses of home.

Then, as cliché as it seems, I saw a bright light in the distance. Whatever it was called out to me and it felt like HOME.

Upon awakening, my first sensation was the warmth of stone against my cheek. Leaning against a large rock in the sun, my bare feet rested on the earth. I was breathing again.

In that moment, a soothing voice whispered from somewhere, “It isn’t your time to go.”

I don’t remember who rescued me or what was said afterwards. I do recall my Mom’s reaction to my story, her parental fear and pain evident in the look of panic on her face and her quick “Oh, you’re fine,” dismissal of the incident. (Believe me, the long term effects of that statement required more than a few hours of therapy!)

Following the accident, my view of “home” was never the same. While I didn’t understand what had happened to me in the water that day, I knew I had glimpsed the doorway to something extraordinary and wonderful… a place I would visit again when it was ‘my time.’

Within the last year, both of my parents passed away.  When I walk into our family home, memories of the voices and laughter from hundreds of gatherings are still fully present.  But the silence that now fills those spaces reminds me that no matter how fully we live within the walls of a home, physical structures do not have the capacity to contain the souls who are just passing through.

A few weeks ago, I held my father’s hand as he took his final breaths.  I wasn’t ready to say goodbye, but I knew he was at peace. Having almost passed through that doorway myself, I knew he had arrived at long last – home again.

~Delila