It was a cold, windy night as I lie there on the highway, very dead.

I saw the paramedics check my pulse and heartbeat, and then they proceeded to attempt CPR. No such luck. They lifted my bitter, rotting body onto the stretcher and heaved me into the ambulance. Before I knew it, they were hauling me off to the nearest hospital.

But I did not follow them. Instead I floated, or drifted, or remained paralyzed in the blinding dead of night. I did not stand, nor did I sit. I did not breathe, nor think. I could not move. I could not remember. I could exist, but only barely. And that was all I could do. Stuck frozen in time, still waiting in the street, and still feeling the coldness of death that the speeding car had wrought upon me, I scarcely but surely existed.

That car had seen me; I was positive. I had attempted to cross the hectic highway quick enough, with the street light flickering sporadically, shutting off just as I had neared the edge of the sidewalk. But there was no way the driver had not seen me; if nothing else, he certainly felt the splattered thud of my body bang against his windshield, and fly behind him, unconscious before I hit the ground. And yet the car sped on.

But I did not feel the impact. I could not feel my body because I was no longer part of my body. I was a spirit. I had met this extraordinary being named Death. And for what had seemed like an eternity, nothing at all happened. I was frozen in time. But I was surely dead.

I imagined my own article in the obituary and felt haunted: not necessarily by what it read, but by the mere fact that it would soon exist. I imagined how my wife would react to the news, how she would break down, and how she would have to muster up the courage to tell our kids the piercing news. I could see them now, with what little sense of “sight” I had left; I could see her in unconscious memory. I wanted to tell them myself that Daddy’s not going to be around anymore, but he would always be watching from Heaven. Even then and there I did not know if Heaven existed, but I also knew then and there that I did not feel ready to find out.

I imagined all the people I knew who were dead: my parents, my grandparents, many of my friends, and my brother. My brother especially came to mind. I recalled he had a similar incident such as mine, only that he was the driver. He had long ago divorced his wife and had spent the following night at one of the local bars. Eventually, he decided to drive home, which was certainly not his brightest decision. The car crash that ensued from his drunk driving resulted in two deaths: one of a pedestrian, and his own.

Such an accident is certainly not unheard of, but it exploded on the local news. People who had never known my brother would discuss with their friends, “Hey, did you hear about the guy who crashed and killed some guy on Route 66 the other day? The guy was an idiot.” Coworkers of mine would slam my brother as a “typical drunk redneck moron,” sometimes right to my face, although they would usually hide their worst remarks for when I was no longer in the room. And when they saw me during the day, they would lie to me with their false condolences of “sorry for your loss.”

Nobody would remember him for his greatness of character that he certainly had, because only those who knew him had the pleasure of remembering that about him. To a stranger, only the harshest memories linger.

Suddenly I felt a tug, a firm pull on my soul that I could not resist. It started off as a slight nudge, but grew as a yank of invisible force. I can’t explain how, but I somehow had the ability to know that I was being drawn towards the hospital. At this point, my senses began to pick up again. I smelled a strange aroma as my sight of the accident became fuzzy, until I realized that I could smell the hospital room itself. I felt my fingers twitching, my real, bodily fingers—not just my ghostly fingers. I opened my eyes, and I saw the lights surrounding the hospital bed, with doctors all around me, and medical equipment attached to me. “He’s alive!” I heard the one closest to me shout.

Yes, I was; I was very much alive. And my experience with death remains locked in my mind forever.