Okay, so I thought I was going to die the other day.  One minute, I was on a nice, smooth plane ride and the next, I was holding onto my seat (and by my seat I mean my own ass) as the plane began to plummet through the sky in violent crosswinds on our approach to Albuquerque.  I’m accustomed to bouncing around while flying over the Manzano Mountains – but this was something different.  Apparently, when a jet encounters severe wind gusts as it descends, it loses lift and begins to stall.  My pilot (and savior) made a quick decision to gun the plane straight up with a monstrous roar (the pilot may have also been monstrously roaring but he was in the cockpit and it was very loud in the plane so if he were screaming, we didn’t hear him).  The passengers, in the meantime, were very quiet because we were terrified and wondering what was going to happen next. 

Personally, I was very happy that I had just had two wonderful weeks with dear  friends in Atlanta, had celebrated my husband’s birthday with dozens of friends in Santa Fe a couple of weeks before, had recently visited friends and family in  Boulder and Arvada, had moved my mother into a new apartment in Boynton Beach while celebrating her birthday in February, was in lots of contact with my grandson, Zachary, who I had watched graduate from college in May, had taken care of our taxes and my parents’ taxes and had left my husband with lots of prepared food in the freezer.  He still wouldn’t know how to use the washing machine but he could always buy new underwear.  And he would have our cat to keep him company. 

So, everything was under control.  I was a little concerned about whether I would feel anything upon impact or if death would be immediate.  I began to think about all the friends and family who had proceeded me into the Great Unknown, some very recently, and was wondering if they would be waiting to receive me with open arms.  I really didn’t want to die – I even remember muttering to whoever was listening on the other side, “Don’t take me yet.” 

Once the pilot stabilized the plane, he got on the intercom and apologized to the freaked-out passengers and explained that we would have to circle around until conditions improved below or until hell froze over – whichever came first.  I really hate New Mexico in the springtime when the warning “Hazardous Winds May Exist” becomes the state mantra.  I don’t know if I’ll ever get into a plane again but, if I do, I’ll have to find another state to fly back to.  Except Texas – I don’t ever want to fly into Texas.  I don’t want to drive into Texas.  If I ever have to go to Texas, I’ll rent a horse. And a boat. 

While I was up there wondering how the pilot was going to land, I began to think about other times I had near-death experiences.  For one thing, I nearly died at birth. I was an RH baby – my parents’ incompatible blood types (RH negative/RH positive) were going to do me in unless I had a complete blood transfusion.  My body rejected the new blood supply so I hung in limbo between life and death for my first 10 days with a very high fever.  If I had any awareness at all, it was seeing my grandmother’s eyes in the Intensive Care Unit.  She was the one who came to hold me while I was barely holding on.  And 21 years later, I was the one to hold her as she lay dying. 

Two years later, I had another near-death experience as my mother held me at the water’s edge at Rockaway Beach in New York.  A big wave came and knocked me out of her arms.  I remember the sensation of being dragged out to sea.  And, much later, I recall the feel of shells rubbing up against my legs and belly as I washed up on the sand.  Someone found me and reunited me with my parents. Had I actually died out there and been sent back for another hundred years?

Fast-forward another couple of years.  I was living with my family in Kew Garden Hills in Queens.  My older brother had a few friends over – Mark, a kid with freckles; Dean, a skinny boy; Ronnie, a kid who would passionately chew on my neck 12 years later and become a professional baseball player; and a big guy named Newman who the other guys called, “Noodle” because of his gourd-like head.  They all thought it would be fun to put a heavy couch cushion on my head and pile on.  After a while, I stopped kicking and my brother called upon my mother for help.  I had not only stopped kicking, I had stopped breathing.

I still remember the angle of the sun coming in from the bathroom window as my mother attempted to revive me.  When I opened my eyes, I saw boys with downcast eyes shuffling down the hallway toward the door.  They had almost killed a little girl that day.  Me. 

I have more examples, but why be morbid?  At this stage in my life, I have seen a disproportionate number of people go.  Cancer.  Accidents.  Organ failure.  Suicide.  I am frequently with them just before they go.  Or while they are going. 

One friend, who had died over a five-year period in her forties became very concerned about my soul because I hadn’t accepted Jesus as my savior.  She was certain that I would be going straight to hell.  In fact, she was certain she was also going straight to hell because she felt that she hadn’t been a very good person.  It had nothing to do with Jesus.  As I lay with her in her deathbed, I told her not to worry about me or my soul. I told her that I thought that people went where they wanted to go and I believed that our souls were not limited to just one plane (and I’m not talking about the plane approaching Albuquerque, thank God). 

What I promised Martha was that my communication would continue with her after she left.  And, if she discovered that I was on the wrong track, she should come back (in some way that wouldn’t scare the hell out of me) and let me know if I had to change my thinking.  That was over 20 years ago.  I visit her at her grave and, more importantly, I visit her in my heart.  She is at peace and so am I.  So, I expect to continue past this life. 

In fact, I think I may have already continued past this life. 

Two weeks ago, I sat outside the home of a friend who had just perished in a car crash and spoke my feelings. I suddenly became focused on a song playing on the radio – Rihanna was singing “Diamonds (In the Sky).”  Now, I don’t know Rihanna from Justin Timberlake (I’m just not up on popular artists), but it seemed to me that my friend was communicating to me from the beyond.  He was saying (in Rihanna’s voice), “Feel the warmth, we'll never die,  We're like diamonds in the sky.”  And isn’t there an ad out there that claims that “Diamonds are Forever”?

So, a few days ago, as my plane plummeted toward Albuquerque somewhere between life and death, I felt (and not for the first time) that they were one and the same. 

We are forever.