What's Happening? Bonnie Crandall   © Copyright 2025 by Bonnie Crandall

Image by rony michaud from Pixabay

What’s happening? . . . Something weird. But what? . . . What do I do? . . . WHAT IS HAPPENING!

I had just returned home from leading a workshop and my PowerPoint overload was giving me a serious headache. So, I grabbed a bottle of over-the-counter pain meds and popped two into my mouth. A few minutes passed and I could feel the medication taking hold. But it wasn’t what I expected! My eyes felt as like they were trying to push out of my head. My tongue was suddenly too big for my mouth. My throat was swelling, and breathing was becoming very stressful. I knew I was in trouble, but couldn’t understand why! 

Alone in the house, with no one to help, I used my swollen fingers to call 911. Trying to talk with my now swollen mouth and tongue, I struggled to say “I’m having a reaction to medication.” It was the only thing I could imagine might be happening. But even that made no sense. Many people use it. My husband uses it. And it was deemed OTC safe. The operator took my address, and with my heart racing, I hung up.  

Then I remembered earlier seeing my neighbor returning home. She was a knowledgeable nurse and I was totally clueless—and scared.  I rushed next door and asked if she would come over and wait with me for the 911 team. Speaking clearly now was a serious challenge, but my bulging eyes and swollen face must have communicated, and she came. 

A few minutes later two EMTs arrived. They immediately plopped me into a chair and began to check my vitals. One asked “What’s her BP?” (blood pressure). The other replied, “I can’t get a reading.” And then . . . suddenly . . . I found myself totally without any tension, and I attempted to say, “I’m leaving you now.”  And I left . . . 

NDE is now the accepted terminology for what I was experiencing, a Near Death Experience. At the moment of my “leaving,” however, I had no idea of what was happening. I hadn’t been in a traumatic accident or suffering from a dread disease. I had simply taken an OTC pain med for a headache. In fact, I didn’t even consider the idea that I was dying – although the final medical writeup said my anaphylactic reaction to the drug was “FATAL.” I do recall thinking, “How embarrassing. My tombstone will say, “She took two Aleve and kicked.” But what happened next was so all-encompassing that my thoughts instantly moved away from everything I knew. 

I was not there anymore. Where was I? My body was slumped in a chair in the living room, but I was definitely feeling that I was elsewhere. And it was the best of feelings! “Oh, this is where I was always meant to be.” I was surrounded by an overwhelming sense of peace, safety, joy and what felt like bubbling-giggling laughter. My words cannot adequately describe the peace I felt, but it was beyond anything I could ever have imagined. It was like what a baby might feel safely embraced within the body of its mother. Floating, bouncing, growing into the person that was yet to be, with no concerns, only trust. And, this place of total acceptance had a bright yellow glow, which I later laughingly called “yellow Jello,” maybe because the bounciness of Jello always made me smile as a child.

Then I tried to process what was happening. It never occurred to me that I had died, having never done that before. But then I recalled the names of two dear friends who had died and whom I had asked to be a part of my welcoming committee (in case there was such a thing). And just as I was trying to decide to act on that memory, my limp body was forcefully ejected from my chair, and I was rudely throwing up on the dear EMTs who had just started my heart again. 

I don’t know how long I was away bouncing in my yellow Jello. I was, however, grateful to be back in this land of the living. Yet, I also oddly felt somewhat disappointed that I had returned.  An ambulance ride to the hospital followed, where I was strapped to a gurney and pumped full of antihistamine to rebalance my system.

The next day as sat with my husband (who had been out of town during all the excitement), I told him that had I not called 911, he would now be planning a funeral. But I also told him how my experience of dying had changed me. Most of my learned cultural markers of having a successful life were dramatically altered. The diplomas on my office wall that affirmed my intelligence would be simply pieces of scrap paper if I had truly died. My bank account would hold no power if I was no longer here, and how much money I made would not define me. The fact that I was married would be over and another could take the title. Even the fact I gave birth two times didn’t alter the impact of the billions of others born on this planet. All my titles – wife, mother, friend, counselor, musician, etc. no longer would be declarations of my individual worth. We come into this world as just a person, and now I knew that is who we are when we leave.

So, replacing all those previous markers of who I was and what I needed to be about in this world, was a simple image that kept floating into my thoughts. It was an image of a pebble being tossed into a pond. It plops into the water in one place, and almost as soon as it hits, it sinks. But it leaves behind a ripple, which forms another ripple, and then another. I kept trying to wrap my mind around this now profound image. Ultimately, it seemed, all I was to do in this life was to daily pass on ripples of grace, acknowledgment, and appreciation to every person I encountered. These actions didn’t need to be complicated. A simple word of encouragement, a soft statement of valuing, an act of kindness has the possibility of making a truly lasting impact with the life we have to live. By valuing, prioritizing, and affirming others, we let them know they are seen and appreciated. Joy given and joy received.

And, in the moment that I tried to say this out loud to my husband, I felt a renewed awareness of the peace I experienced, and a little taste of . . . yellow Jello!