An anniversary is coming soon. I’m not sure why I feel led to share this. I have kept it hidden for a very long time…~

I don’t tell this story often. In fact, even after the incident occurred, I kept the details to myself for the longest time not even sharing it right away with my husband who adores me.

When I do talk about it, I wonder what the person who is listening is thinking. Images of a white truck roaring up my driveway, the doors of the truck flying open and two men in white coats with sedatives and a strait jacket racing out and kicking down my door to drag me away, fly through my mind. This image often stops me mid-sentence and I weigh my words carefully as I relate what I happened or what I remember

…

I had just returned from a vigorous horseback ride on my mustang Racer. We had stopped in front of the barn so that I could dismount and not have to carry the saddle a long way to the tack room. It was late fall in Oregon. Storm clouds were gathering over the Cascades. In the distance, I could hear the drum of thunder.

Suddenly without warning, the wind picked up. My neighbor Joe had leaned a large aluminum extension ladder against a century-old evergreen. The wind picked up the legs of the ladder and it fell with a crash to the ground below. Simultaneously, the pasture gate opened and slammed against the staying post. My right leg was just about ready to touch ground when Racer startled by the noise bolted!

Instead of vaulting off him and landing safely in the dirt, I tried to remount him. I remember hanging off his neck, my legs dangling and my arms clenched fiercely around his neck. Then he reared and I fell. My head hit the pile of firewood we had neatly stacked in the yard.

I succumbed to the darkness…

…

The light was bright but it didn’t hurt my eyes. I felt warm as if someone had immersed me into a nice soothing bath. I couldn’t yet focus; the light seemed to envelop me like a fog making visibility poor. What I could see, in the distance, moving towards me without making a sound, a figure. The figure appeared to be floating not walking. My mind couldn’t make sense of it. Where was I?

As the figure came closer, I saw with clarity, a shock of red hair. I gasped; this figure was my son Jeremy Ryan!

Born June 25, 1975, he was eighteen hours old when he died. But here he was, extending his hand to me, fully grown-up and handsome. Tall like his dad, and sporting red hair which ran in my family.

“Jeremy?” I whispered. “Is it really you?”

“Hi Mom and welcome! We only have a short time. You aren’t staying yet.” He smiled and the area around him lit up. He extended his arms around me in a hug and tears welled up in my eyes.

“We aren’t alone you know” Jeremy said with a smile. “You have friends here!”

I suddenly felt furry presences head bumping my legs. I didn’t dare take my eyes off my precious son, but I knew beyond a doubt that those head bumps were my cats long passed on! I even knew without even looking which cats they were-

Smudge, our darling calico, found at 3 days old, near frozen in the snows of Alaska. Brought back to life slowly and living for 8 years with us sharing multiple adventures until some low- life stole her out of our driveway. As we attempted to give chase, Smudge jumped out of her kidnapper’s car window and was killed instantly.

Gulliver, our gray tabby that loved to travel and was an excellent mouser. He was 9 years old when he made his last journey, over the Rainbow Bridge.

Hissy, the feral kitty, she loved only me and had developed a habit early-on (being a bottle baby) of placing her paws up on my legs and kneading them while crying to be picked up. This was exactly what she was doing now.

While Jeremy and I talked, more cats came out of the light and joined the first three. Doing rescue work, concentrating on abused and abandoned cats and kittens, I see more death than most. But they all were there waiting for me and wanting me to know that they continue on.

I wanted to stay, there in the bright light surrounded by creatures that I had been devoted to and a little boy, now a man that I missed out knowing in life. But soon, Jeremy told me I had to go back. He gave me a message for his dad, kissed me softly on the cheek, held my hand and then he and the cats just faded away.

I cried out and woke up in the Emergency room. There were several doctors nearby looking concerned and I could see my husband Mike at the doorway, his hat tightly clenched in his hands.

My head was pounding, my mouth was sore and bloody (I had bit my tongue).

“You’re back!” a nurse said. “Welcome back!”

One of the doctors went over to talk to my husband. “Mr. Miller, your wife just woke up, she is quite the survivor!”

I slowly looked around the room at the faces now beaming at me. I could see the bedside table, the clock on the wall, the IV bottle dripping overhead. Yes, I was back, and according to my son, I still had much left to do here.

It’s time to get busy…