Emily Alaimo: Life after (near) death

STEVE PULASKI'S FOREWORD: Emily Alaimo has been a woman I've admired since the first time I saw her. It was my college orientation and she stood out from the bunch; she looked like she was straight out of a 1970's catalog, with what looked to be a hula skirt, a crop top, and short brown hair. She was, in every sense, a flower-child. Being me, I couldn't muster the courage to talk to this incomparable, unique force of radiant beauty and could only stare in awe. I'm sure many do the same to her on a regular basis. Emily commands an aura whenever she comes in sight; she doesn't boast, but inherently draws attention to herself because you know she's a person with a lot of ideas and concretized beliefs that would bring you a wonderful conversation if you asked for it. I've had dinner with her, talked at length with her, and I'm still convinced I haven't scratched the surface of this unique individual. I'm blessed to have her write my website - following about three months of pestering for her to write and publish something deep and meaningful. If possible, I'd love for her to be a regular contributor to my site, or even start her own blog. She's incalculably gifted and has enough knowledge and insight for weeks at a time. Here, I present, "Life after (near) death." 

Lately I’ve been diving deeper and deeper into the ever evolving puddle that is my knowledge of the spiritual journey that I am supposed to be on, hoping to someday transform that puddle, in all its magnificent simplicity, into a flowing stream, river, and even ocean. Questions of the afterlife have been finding their way in and out of my consciousness, sometimes just relaxing there with easy contentment, and sometimes begging for answers.

I guess to begin to address these nagging questions—questions that often keep me awake at night under the stars, awe struck by my insignificance as I gaze up at the infinite galaxy watching over me, humming at a frequency which beautifully synchronizes with my own vibrations each time I surrender myself to the wonder and mystery of the clear night sky—I must first pinpoint the first drop of water that fell to its resting place in my now existing puddle. This task is simple.

The first drop of water materialized with the realization that death is very real and ever looming. This realization came to be following a terrible car accident in which I broke my neck at the C4 vertebrae. In short, it was late at night, I was in a hurry, and I crossed paths with a raccoon that did not fully understand the concept of looking both ways. Being the animal lover I am, and also the new driver I was, I panicked and swerved while slamming on the brakes. Rookie mistake. I was sent rolling through a cornfield for what felt like centuries crammed into a fraction of a second. My life quite literally flashed before my eyes, ending with me watching from afar as a man came to my front door, informing my family that I was dead.

Then the rolling stopped. I was alive. I called 911; no one answered. I called my parents; no one answered. My car was totaled and was smashed so badly that I was trapped inside. I realized I could not move my body well enough to climb out of the window, and figured I was doomed to a slow death in the middle of the cornfield that took the life of my car on a pitch black country road deafened by the whisper of wind and wildlife.

Soon enough, an ambulance appeared. Not long after, my parents arrived. (I later found out the dispatcher fell asleep which was why I got no response from 911.) Two of my doors had to be cut off in order to safely get me out of the car, and I was covered in blood from a source that had yet to be located. I was rushed to the nearest hospital, and got x-rays of my whole body. Upon seeing the x-rays, I was quickly put onto another ambulance and taken to another hospital—one with a trauma unit that was equipped with neurosurgeons.

When I arrived, my bloodsoaked clothes had to be cut off, and talk of emergency surgery frantically floated around due to the fact the break in my neck was so close to my vertebral artery that it actually appeared to have been severed as well, which would have caused me to bleed to death internally. A multitude of scans and tests determined that the artery was not damaged, and luckily the profuse bleeding was only from my nose. The team of neurosurgeons I had were in utter disbelief. They literally could not believe I was alive. I was told point blank that I should, without a shadow of a doubt, be paralyzed, and that I narrowly escaped death.

For those who are unaware, paralysis is caused by spinal cord damage which often accompanies injuries to the neck. Paralysis at the C4 vertebrae means the victim will never talk, walk, feel, breathe, or have control of any bodily functions ever again. Only 3% of people who break C4 walk away with no spinal cord damage. I was told that one tiny change in the way my car rolled, the artery that supplies my brain with blood would have been severed, and I would have bled to death before the ambulance arrived at the scene. I am lucky to be typing this, and even more lucky to be alive.

To this day, more than two years after the accident, I am still in physical therapy. I still suffer from anxiety and panic attacks related to the PTSD I now have as a result of the accident. I still hate driving at night, and often refuse to. I still experience chronic back pain that is often so bad that it is hard to breathe. I still frequently get sharp pains in my neck right at the spot where my vertebrae was severed, and it still serves as a reminder to be grateful that I can feel pain—that I can feel anything at all.

The experience that should have killed me forced me to come alive. Coming so close to death gave me a newfound lust for life after suffering from depression for years. I suppose this is where the real story begins; the story of how I found pure and utter happiness from something dark. Now, I feel like stories like this often end with the narrator finding God, visiting Heaven, or diving deep into their religion as a way to give thanks for being alive. This is one is a little different, though.

I found myself. I found passion and love, joy, happiness, wonder, awe. I learned what it means to live everyday as if it is your last, and not in a cliché manner. I found meditation, which taught me mindfulness—a practice that opens your eyes and soul to the bigger picture. I appreciate in abundance all the beauty around me. My favorite place to be is submerged in nature, contemplating the most intricate details of my surroundings. I find great amazement in life’s smallest gifts. I live for myself and hope to inspire happiness in the lives of others. I find the light in all the darkness of the world. You would be hardpressed to find me without a smile on my face. I am content.

Being told that I should have died did something very real and very incredible to my inner being. My soul was almost forced to leave my physical body, and instead it got brighter and more powerful. I can’t help but think that there is a significant reason the universe kept me alive that night, and I only hope to one day be able to discover that reason. For now, I choose to live life abundantly, as one of my favorite writers, Henry David Thoreau, would say: I don’t take a minute on this earth for granted.

 Life is fragile. Life is fleeting. Life is short. If depression or darkness is an obstacle on your journey, search into the deepest depths of the darkness and find the light. Uncover the Taijitu, or, the Yin and Yang, of your life. Realize that light and dark can live in harmony, and they must live in harmony. Without pain, there is no pleasure. Without death, there is no life. I discovered that abruptly and against my will, and I am so thankful that I did. If nothing else, maybe my purpose here is to enable this message to reach those most in need of it.

As I bring this story to a close, I want to come back to the puddle I mentioned at the beginning. My near death experience was the start of this puddle, and with each passing day it collects water that heads down stream towards enlightenment. For now, I am happy with a small pond. By getting this message out there, my biggest hope would be to inspire the first drop in many other puddles. The more you give away, the more you have. The more puddles you create, the faster your current gets.

So finally, to bring it full circle, what would a story of a near death experience be without some anecdote on the afterlife to close? Well, I’ve got nothing. To me, the present is all that matters. As far as I’m concerned, my soul will drift into the body of a new born dolphin when I die. (I can dream, okay.) The only thing you can do in this present life is live it abundantly, make someone smile every single day, appreciate the light in everything dark, and create puddles everywhere you go, for everyone you meet.