My name is Isabella. Three years ago, when I was nine, this is what happened to me. I was sick. Very sick. I was suffering from bronchial asthma (which isn’t unusual since my family has a history of asthma). I had been absent from school for a week or so. I wasn’t admitted to the hospital because we where pretty poor at that time. I just stayed at home, lying on the couch. I seemed to be on my death bed. I did almost everything on that couch. I ate and slept there. Also there was a chamber pot where I could pee. I couldn’t risk tiring myself going to the bathroom. I knew I was dying. The food my body took in would eventually be upchucked after I swallowed it. I was practically a living zombie.
Soon after I had another asthma attack. My mother hurriedly set up the Nebulizer only to find out that we had run out of nebules. She sent my sister and her friend to the pharmacy to buy more, but it was really far. I started convulsing. I couldn’t breathe and I gasped. It seemed like my lungs were being squeezed out of air. My mother ran towards me and encouraged me to keep breathing. I heard her crying, but I couldn’t help it. I knew what was going to happen next.
I began to slip in and out of consciousness. I could hear my mother screaming and shaking me. It was no use. I was not breathing anymore. And then it happened. I closed my eyes and saw myself in a place… it was so bright … and it seemed like I was nearing a light. I started to breathe normal again and it felt peaceful, calm and heavenly. I could hear singing and I tried to reach out my hands. It felt wonderful being there but I could subconsciously feel my body being shaken. I could hear my Mother. She was screaming and pleading for me to come back. It felt like my soul was being suctioned away from the light. It happened so fast. In a split section I was in my body again with opened eyes. The last thing I can remember was my mother with her tear streaked face. Her mouth was moving, saying something I could not hear.
To this day my mother doesn’t exactly enjoy talking about it. I understand, so I avoid the topic. Sometimes I try to tell people about this experience, but I know they think I’m a nut case and I’m making it all up. So I don’t talk about it very much. I know this isn’t a ghost story, but I had to share it with someone. Thank you for reading.