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I imagine that the moment you die you don’t even see it coming. You get no more than “what the...” and it’s all over. I don’t mean the death that is expected, whether from a long illness or jumping out of a plane without a parachute, but the one that just comes out of nowhere, that’s just Atropos cutting the thread. I could be wrong.
I do know the moment you almost die is not like that. This moment is one that runs longer than Harry Potter movies, one that needs to be broken into a Christmas and Summer release. I’ve had a few moments like that. Today, as I was driving on slushy roads with Arkansas drivers who look at snow like it was a public school history course that taught you something, I felt like that moment might come to me. It did not.
In 2008 I fell through the attic onto the garage floor. Well, not the garage floor...on the stuff on the garage floor. That included books, toys, and a picture frame. The reason I fell is because I was reaching for a small stuffed pumpkin, so that I could store it (the moral of this story is Halloween sucks. I’m just saying, this never would have happened to me with Christmas decorations). The first thing I noticed as I fell was that the ceiling in the garage was very flimsy. It was not like I jumped on that spot. It was not even as if I had put my full weight on that spot. I leaned forward slightly and put my arm forward, reaching for the pumpkin, and I just slipped. Whee.
The thing is that I think I actually landed on the floor before my mind decided I had landed on the floor. I was already there, on books, toys, and picture frames, and yet I was slowly spinning in air, trying to be a professional wrestler, knowing I could land right, seeing the garage door go from sunrise to sunset, thinking to myself, well, I guess I’m gonna die.
It takes a few moments for me to realize that, yay, I’m not dead and, huh, I’m bleeding. Bella comes into the garage and asks if I’m okay. I’m on the floor, there’s a large section of the ceiling hanging loosely, my shirt is torn, and there’s a long bloody streak down my back, and she asks if I’m okay. I do the same thing with my wife all the time when I know she’s not okay, like I’m Charlie Brown just so sure the football will be there this time.
I call my wife and start to talk to her about my audition for the Flying Wallendas, but before I was able to, she told me she was with her patient at the time. So I said she could call me back. She did and then freaked out when I told her I had fallen through the attic. Oh my God, are you okay? You are? Maybe you should come here so I can fix you up.
Say, can you stop and get me something at Wendy’s on the way?
This is something we joke about now, especially since we are now in a new house with a new attic (one that is much sturdier than the old one). But sometimes I think--what if there was nothing on the floor; what if I didn’t rotate like I did; what if; what if? So even over two years later, the moment of near-death is still happening.
I do know the moment you almost die is not like that. This moment is one that runs longer than Harry Potter movies, one that needs to be broken into a Christmas and Summer release. I’ve had a few moments like that. Today, as I was driving on slushy roads with Arkansas drivers who look at snow like it was a public school history course that taught you something, I felt like that moment might come to me. It did not.
In 2008 I fell through the attic onto the garage floor. Well, not the garage floor...on the stuff on the garage floor. That included books, toys, and a picture frame. The reason I fell is because I was reaching for a small stuffed pumpkin, so that I could store it (the moral of this story is Halloween sucks. I’m just saying, this never would have happened to me with Christmas decorations). The first thing I noticed as I fell was that the ceiling in the garage was very flimsy. It was not like I jumped on that spot. It was not even as if I had put my full weight on that spot. I leaned forward slightly and put my arm forward, reaching for the pumpkin, and I just slipped. Whee.
The thing is that I think I actually landed on the floor before my mind decided I had landed on the floor. I was already there, on books, toys, and picture frames, and yet I was slowly spinning in air, trying to be a professional wrestler, knowing I could land right, seeing the garage door go from sunrise to sunset, thinking to myself, well, I guess I’m gonna die.
It takes a few moments for me to realize that, yay, I’m not dead and, huh, I’m bleeding. Bella comes into the garage and asks if I’m okay. I’m on the floor, there’s a large section of the ceiling hanging loosely, my shirt is torn, and there’s a long bloody streak down my back, and she asks if I’m okay. I do the same thing with my wife all the time when I know she’s not okay, like I’m Charlie Brown just so sure the football will be there this time.
I call my wife and start to talk to her about my audition for the Flying Wallendas, but before I was able to, she told me she was with her patient at the time. So I said she could call me back. She did and then freaked out when I told her I had fallen through the attic. Oh my God, are you okay? You are? Maybe you should come here so I can fix you up.
Say, can you stop and get me something at Wendy’s on the way?
This is something we joke about now, especially since we are now in a new house with a new attic (one that is much sturdier than the old one). But sometimes I think--what if there was nothing on the floor; what if I didn’t rotate like I did; what if; what if? So even over two years later, the moment of near-death is still happening.
