“E. M. was having a normal pregnancy when her contractions began at nine months and her husband brought her to the hospital. In the delivery room, however, her contractions stop. She becomes aware that people are rushing around and talking to one another with urgent voices. Also, her husband has fainted and had to be carried out of the room.
She writes: Suddenly I realize that I’m looking down at a woman lying on a bed with her legs in supports. I see the nurses and doctors panicking. I see a lot of blood on the bed and on the floor, I see large hands pressing down hard on the woman’s belly, and then I see the woman giving birth to a child. The child is immediately taken to another room. The nurses look dejected. Everybody is waiting.
My head is knocked back hard when the pillow is suddenly pulled away. Once again, I witness a great commotion. Swift as an arrow, I fly through a dark tunnel. I’m engulfed by an overwhelming feeling of peace and bliss. I feel intensely satisfied, happy, calm, and peaceful. I hear wonderful music. I see beautiful colors and gorgeous flowers in all colors of the rainbow in a large meadow.
At the far end is a beautiful, clear, warm light. This is where I must go. I see a figure in a light garment. This figure is waiting for me and reaches out her hand. It feels like a warm and loving welcome. Hand in hand, we move toward the beautiful and warm light. Then she lets go of my hand and turns around.
I feel something pulling me back. I notice a nurse slapping me hard on my cheeks and calling my name. After some time I realize where I am and I know that my child isn’t well. Our daughter is no longer alive. This return hurts so much! I long to go back—indeed, where to?
When I returned from this beautiful world, my reception here in this world was cold, frosty, and above all loveless. The nurse with whom I tried to share my amazing experience dismissed it by saying that I would soon receive medication to help me sleep and then it would all be over. All over? I didn’t want that. I didn’t want it to be over at all. I wanted to go back. The gynecologist told me that I was still young and that I could have plenty more children; I should move on and look forward to the future.
I stopped telling my story. It was difficult enough to find words for my experience because how could words express what I had experienced? But what else could I do? Who could I talk to? What was the matter with me? Had I gone crazy? The only person I could tell my story to, over and over again, was my husband. He listened and asked questions even though he didn’t understand what had happened to me, and whether I was the only person with such an experience.
Dr. Pim van Lommel writes: "For more than twenty years E. M. repressed her feelings about this near-death experience, until depression led her to a psychologist who not only listened to her story, but also believed it." E. M. explains: Now I realize my fear of death has disappeared completely, in marked contrast with the years prior. This is why I have difficulties with the concept of time. These days I constantly lose track of time, whereas before I lived by the clock.
Material things aren’t important to me. The only thing that matters to me is unconditional love. And this is what I’ve always had with my husband. Yet recently I read in a study that unconditional love between human beings is an illusion. And they refuse to believe me! This is why I feel like an outsider sometimes. This is why I’m always, especially during vacations, on the lookout for landscapes, for colors and flowers.
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