Five days ago, my dad died. For somewhere between 30 seconds, and 3 minutes, he laid there on the ground in South Africa with no pulse and no breath. He heard singing, like a chorus, felt pressure on his chest, and slowly came back.
He tells the story casually, almost, saying he died and was reborn after falling off a truck. People around him were panicking, preparing to do CPR, but hadn't yet begun when he came back. For my part, I don't know what to think, or how to feel. I am hearbreakingly grateful that he is alive and here, and I know his body will heal (he popped most of his ribs out when he landed, so is in a lot of pain, but he is ALIVE). At the same time, I am devastated by thinking that my daddy was DEAD, and part of me grieves for his mortality. Every day of my life he's been here, on this earth. Mostly not where I am, but still available. Reachable. I have nightmares sometimes where he's died. I know he's almost 70 and will not live forever, but I am not ready to say goodbye. I am so thankful that he's here, and alive. I have more time with him. Who knows how long, but thank god it's not up yet. I am so glad he hasn't been called Home, that they sent him back. The scientific part of my brain tells me that when he fell, his nervous system received a shock that stopped his heart and lungs for a moment, but the rest of me is so grateful for the miracle that things restarted again.
There are so few people on this earth that know even slightly what this is like...what am I supposed to feel?