Lying in bed I had a fleeting thought...no, an all-encompassing thought, about my having been in what people classify as a tragedy. You see, I was hit by a motorcycle when I was, oh about ten. I was thinking about how different the experience must have been for my family. So frightening and unnerving. But, for me, it was nothing. No fright, no pain, no thought. Nothing.
When people talked about tragedies before, it seemed so awful for the poor person who went through it. But the truth is that it's not even like you are there. It's like something else takes hold of your body. (Death or God?) But whatever it is, you aren't there. You don't witness any of it. Because when you're that close to death, you don't know it. You don't feel it. You don't sense it. Eventhough your family may tell you that you responded when they asked you if you wanted to go to the hospital, you didn't. You were gone. All there is, is nothing. Like sleep without dreams or interruptions. Just black.
It just occurred to me that there really is no tragedy for the victim. (I swear it was days, forever. But in a blink of an eye. I didn't know-I still don't know-how long I was out.) The tragedy is with the loved ones. Not knowing if you'll live or die. Because while they were waiting those excruciating days (weeks?) for me to wake up, show some sign of life beyond a vegetative state, for me, it was just black, dreamless, nothingness sleep.
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