Do you contemplate mortality? Over the past year, I’ve found myself pondering this subject daily. It’s not a morbid fixation but rather a consideration of the practical implications of my potential demise. I’ve delved into the logistics of managing our household, supporting our adult children with disabilities, caring for our 9-year-old, and even making arrangements for funerals in the event of my or my husband’s passing. Initially, I attributed these musings to my advancing age of 59, assuming such reflections were typical for older individuals.
Then, I came perilously close to death.
It feels surreal to recount this, but it’s even more surreal to have faced a sudden and severe medical crisis that threatened my life. On Saturday, March 2, persistent dizziness confined me to bed until it escalated into overwhelming nausea. Subsequently, I began vomiting blood—abundant quantities of it. Unbeknownst to me, at least one of the two ulcers I had ruptured a vein, causing a profuse internal hemorrhage. I found myself sprawled on the bathroom floor, drained of color and muscle strength, unable to even open my eyes. Through sheer determination, I managed to cling to consciousness, fearing that succumbing to unconsciousness would equate to never waking up.
My daughter dialed 911, and as we awaited assistance, I continued to expel blood onto the floor. Amidst tears from my husband and children, with my daughter frantically searching for my blood pressure, the situation rapidly deteriorated. I distinctly recall vocalizing, “I’m not prepared to depart.” Following an ambulance journey to the hospital, further episodes of vomiting, blood transfusions, multiple abdominal procedures, and a total of six days spent in medical care—five in the ICU and one in a standard hospital room—I was eventually discharged to return home. The recovery process has been slower than anticipated, marked by fluctuations and setbacks.
Throughout this harrowing ordeal, one emotion prevails above all: Gratitude.
I am profoundly thankful for the gift of extended time on this earth. Grateful for the additional moments with our precious 9-year-old, for more shared experiences with my husband, adult children, and grandchildren, and yes, for the opportunity to better prepare for the inevitable.
The outpouring of support from family, friends, colleagues, and neighbors has been overwhelming. Their gestures of checking in, providing meals, lending a listening ear to my harrowing narrative, and showering us with love and prayers have been invaluable. (On a practical note, we’ve realized the necessity of establishing a phone tree for emergencies—it’s now on our to-do list.)
I am immensely thankful for the swift, life-saving interventions I received—from the emergency responders to the hospital staff, and the generous blood donors who played a vital role in saving my life. The myriad of circumstances surrounding my medical emergency could have led to a vastly different outcome. I am acutely aware of those who lack access to such critical care or for whom medical intervention proved futile in preserving their loved ones. My thoughts and empathy are with them.
As a woman of deep faith, I draw solace from the belief that this life constitutes Act II of a three-act play. I find comfort in the prospect of enduring familial relationships beyond the confines of mortality. With children awaiting me on the other side, I anticipate a joyous reunion with departed loved ones. However, that reunion can wait a little while longer.
The brush with death served as a poignant reminder of two sentiments that had almost slipped from my consciousness: Hope and Joy.
Admittedly, finding hope and joy amidst the prevailing turmoil has been a challenge. Like many families, we have weathered profound grief, grappled with mental health struggles, endured betrayal, financial hardships, and health adversities.
The current landscape, marred by political strife and societal discord, has left me disheartened. The prevalence of racism, domestic violence, child abuse, and mental health crises, not only in the United States but globally, has fostered a sense of despondency. The magnitude of these issues has weighed heavily on my spirit, threatening to erode my sense of hope.
However, my near-death experience prompted a much-needed recalibration.
Inherently resilient, I am capable of embracing hope and joy. I am empowered to effect change, even if it entails incremental progress. Recent events have underscored the importance of deepening my faith, enriching my spiritual understanding, nurturing relationships, and reaffirming my commitment to serving others.
In alignment with the teachings I hold dear, I am compelled to emulate Jesus Christ’s example of compassion and service. My faith in Him permeates every facet of my life, guiding my actions and attitudes. Central to my beliefs is the imperative to alleviate suffering, extend kindness, and embody love towards all individuals, irrespective of their background or beliefs.
Moreover, I aspire to cultivate a greater sense of joy in my life. Despite joy being an intrinsic part of my identity, I acknowledge the need to actively seek it amidst life’s challenges. President Russell M. Nelson’s poignant words resonate with me, emphasizing that the joy we experience is not contingent upon external circumstances but rather on the orientation of our hearts.
As the Christian community commemorates Holy Week, culminating in the celebration of Easter, I am reminded of the profound significance of this season. From the triumphal entry on Palm Sunday to the poignant events of the Last Supper, the agony in Gethsemane, the crucifixion, and ultimately, the glorious resurrection—these sacred moments epitomize the essence of faith and redemption. Through Christ’s sacrifice, all injustices will be rectified, death will be conquered, and eternal peace will reign. His resurrection heralds a message of hope, assuring me of a future reunion with my departed children and a restoration of lasting joy and serenity.
He is risen. Let the entire world exult in jubilation.