The Day I Died
It was one of the winter months, January of 2010, I think, when I woke one morning to a cold house. We keep the heat at 68 degrees F at night – just enough to keep the chill away. But that morning, the house was cold. I felt the vents, the unit was on, but cold air was blowing out. We assumed the pilot light had simply gone out over night, and it would be an easy fix. Except neither I nor my husband knew where the pilot light was in our attic furnace.
I called one of our close friends who was familiar with furnaces and knew exactly what to do. We lowered the attic door and ladder for him, and he ascended into the cold attic and approached the furnace. After a few quiet moments, he came back down, explaining that he was unable to light the pilot. “By the way,” he asked, “who turned off your gas valve?” My husband and I looked at each other with wide eyes. Neither of us had been up there, and neither of us knew where the gas valve was even located. Michael explained that the gas had been turned off, and it would have taken quite a bit of effort to turn that valve. It would not have been able to move on its own. Someone would have had to physically turn it. We were both a little unnerved. We thanked Michael and he left, still shaking his head in disbelief.
From there we ended up calling out a furnace repair person. He arrived the next day and made his way to the attic. After a good while, he came down with a mutilated piece of furnace equipment – the “furnace grate,” he said. Apparently this piece is where the gas flows through, where the flames sit, and what is responsible for heating our home. The look on his face was pure bewilderment. He showed us the solid steel grate, which had a gaping hole blown in the center, with metal shards sticking straight up instead of lying neatly in a deliberate and “normal” pattern. He said to my husband with quiet resolve, “Sir, I can’t explain how this happened or why, at the very least, your young children and small animals are still alive.” It looked like there had been an explosion, but we heard nothing all night. The dogs didn’t even stir. Sometime during the middle of the night while everyone was deep asleep, there was an explosion in our attic strong enough to bend solid steel into shards of scrap metal. The gas had to have been on to ignite the explosion.
My life has experienced tremendous growth and understanding of some universal truths, such as the possibility that we exist in multiple dimensions, each just a degree different from any other in existence. With this in mind, I had an epiphany! If this theory is correct, I believe my home did explode and my entire family and pets did expire that night, but our essence, our “state of existence”, woke up in another dimension and carried on with our lives as usual. The only sequence that was out of place was that steel grate. Had we not found evidence of an explosion, I may have never awakened to the idea that other dimensions exist and that we are capable of either jumping between them, creating new ones with each decision we make, or get thrown into one to continue our journey. What are your thoughts? I’d love to know.
I may never know the answer to these questions, but I am extremely thankful I have been able to carry on with my life. I have survived to watch my children grow up, witness my grandchildren thriving, and along the way I have been blessed to offer peace and healing to countless people. But I still have trouble believing that I was spared simply because of who I am. After all, I’m just a gal living my life and helping people along the way, as opportunities arise. I’m just me. And I know one day Mr. Death and I shall meet for a final time. I only hope I’m allowed to live out my life to the fullest before we meet again.