Miles To Go Before I Sleep (35 page)

Melissa had a baby brother after all!

I felt especially close to the man who followed my story, a man named Tom Sawyer (yes, his real name!). A heavy equipment operator and mechanic by trade, Tom had been pinned underneath a two-ton truck for over fifteen minutes when the ground underneath him shifted. The pressure of the truck lying on his chest forced all the air out of his body, and he was unable to breathe during that entire time. His heart stopped. Miraculously, rescuers managed to lift the truck and pull Tom to safety.

Though he couldn't communicate by sound during the ordeal, Tom was totally aware of all that was happening around him. “I have all of the conversations that took place around me memorized,” he said. “There were about thirty-two people who gathered around within just a minute or so—the neighbors. This happened at my house.”

Tom's and Melissa's stories were very similar to mine and others who have had NDEs. Tom told the
Donahue
audience that he, too, felt tremendous peace, joy, and love as he drifted towards a shining white light, which he later called Christ. There was something else he said that really caught my attention.

“I actually think it's a little comical,” Tom said, “because I fervently believe that if I didn't get pinned under that truck, something else like that would have happened to me. Because I believe that at that time in my life, I needed to have a thing called a near death experience. I feel as though it was necessary….”

When I heard that, I thought,
Wow! This guy is great!
Tom felt the same way I did, that in some mysterious way, my spirit needed the same thing.

It was obvious that the NDE had dramatically changed Tom's perspective on life and death, as it had mine. “I had a very profound, direct communication with this light,” Tom continued. “And, of course, what I'm talking about is the essence of God; it was heaven. I communicated with that in a telepathic way. And I coined a phrase that's very accurate—superluminal telepathic communication. It was a communication, telepathic, that functions at the speed of light, conceivably faster.”

Tom was thirty-three years old when the incident occurred. “I would have to describe myself as an agnostic at the time,” he said. “I thought religion was fine for the religious-type people—it did more good than harm—but as far as I was concerned, it just had nothing at all to do with me. I didn't totally dismiss the possibility of God, but I certainly didn't believe in it. I do now. I know that there's not only God, but that there is a Christ.”

Like many people who have NDEs, Tom was at first reluctant to share his story with others. “As a result of my experience, I started realizing things that were above and beyond my comprehension scholastically,” he said. “I started talking about quantum physics, wave functions, religious matters. I just barely have a high school education, but from that experience I instantly came to know many, many things that are extraordinary—people have told me they are extraordinary.”

I was amazed by the many positive reactions of people who saw us on
Donahue.
Many told me about similar experiences they'd had and kept to themselves for fear of being misunderstood, ridiculed, or called crazy.

After the show, I talked to Raymond Moody, best-selling author of
Life After Life
and the nation's leading expert and author on near death experiences. I said I wanted to read his book about near death experiences and learn more about them.

“You don't need to read it,” Moody said. “You already know more about near death experiences than I do. You've had one.”

In the next few months, I was on numerous local and national television talk shows, including
Oprah!
In addition to being on talk shows,
People
magazine did a profile of me, as did
Redbook, Family Circle, Woman's World
, the
Chicago Tribune, St. Paul Pioneer Press, Minneapolis Star Tribune
, and numerous other publications.

I eventually formed a partnership with Bill and Marcia Behring. Together, we developed a series of presentations for business, educational, and religious organizations. It was an exciting time. A whole new world of possibilities was opening up to me. I hadn't felt this excited about life since I first left home to teach in Norway.

At the same time, it became more and more clear to me that there was a price to be paid for my new growth. My career horizons were expanding, and I was feeling better about myself, but my marriage was foundering. Scott and I continued to grow further apart and, eventually, we separated and later divorced.

Out of respect for the privacy of those involved, I choose not to disclose or describe the intimate details of our relationship after the hijacking, or the specific events that led to the end of our marriage. That story is beyond the scope and purpose of this book.

Scott and I were young and had only been married for three months when the hijacking occurred. Under the best of circumstances, we still had a lot of work ahead of us to build a solid foundation for our future together. The hijacking only made the task harder. In the aftermath, as I struggled to cope with my physical and emotional wounds and accept the “new” Jackie, our paths diverged. In different ways, the tragedy served as a catalyst for dramatic change in both our lives.

I remain very thankful for all that Scott and his family did to help me after the hijacking. I don't think anyone could have been more understanding or patient with me through all my emotional ups and downs and confusion about who I was and where I was going. I learned a great deal about myself—my strengths and weaknesses—during our three-and-a-half-year marriage. Most important, I learned to be true to myself, take care of myself, and really listen to my heart.

Working through the painful feelings that followed the end of my marriage was just as hard as coping with the anger, sadness, and resentment I felt after the hijacking. Knowing it was something that I wanted and knew had to be done didn't make it any easier.

Yet I knew in my heart that I was growing. My eyes were being opened. Deep in my spirit, I knew that, for me, there was no going back.

I was getting a lot of encouragement to keep sharing my story. As I gained proficiency as a speaker and traveled more, I got cards and letters from many people all over the United States and Canada who heard me speak and identified with what happened to me. After seeing a Canadian television documentary about my life story, a young man in prison began writing to me.

Some of the people wanted to know what I thought about what they were going through. Others wanted to know if I could suggest a doctor who could help them or help their daughter or son. One writer said, “My mother had a stroke, and she has been having the same kinds of memory problems that you struggled with. I didn't understand before.”

I got a call from a woman whose son recently went blind from a hereditary eye disease. Although he still had his peripheral vision, his straight-ahead vision had been destroyed. The woman's friend had heard me speak in Montreal, so she called me and said that I was talking about the same thing that her son Martin had been telling them. Martin's mother was very upset and was crying. I really didn't know what to say other than just be there for support.

I used to think that I had to have all the answers, because I wanted to help and was a caretaker. That's still part of my personality, but it's not so strong anymore. I was learning to let go of caretaking and let people take care of their own lives.

I received hundreds of letters from people who had experienced great hardships and pain, yet they were healing and my story seemed to help them. Teachers, coaches, housewives, secretaries, salespeople, executives, and managers wrote to thank me for some inspiring or comforting word or thought they had taken away from one of my speeches. No matter what issue or problem they were dealing with, they identified with the same issues and struggles I had gone through in my healing journey.

I was encouraged and inspired that I was touching so many lives through my speaking. I felt like I was a teacher again, only this time I was working with adults, helping them deal with the problems and challenges in their lives. A woman recovering from brain surgery and the death of a close friend wrote to thank me for telling my story. “You do have an effect on people,” she said. “You did on me.”

As I opened my eyes and ears more and more, unexpected gifts started flowing into my life. I was listening more and more to my Inner Voice, and things were happening. I was excited about the many changes I was making—and needed to make—in my life.

It was an exhilarating and exciting period of growth and healing. The blinders over my eyes were being lifted, revealing a world more beautiful than I'd ever imagined.

When I healed from the pain of leaving my dog Spike with Scott, I got a new dog, a bichon frise that I named Oliver. When Oliver was very young, he barked and ran around my apartment a lot. He was extremely nervous and excitable. In time, he settled down and became a very important part of my life.

I was also gaining confidence that I actually had something worthwhile to say to people. I started seeing how my speech could help inspire people to work and live better, to reach beyond their limitations and fears to become the best they can be. I was gaining a new faith and confidence that I would have a life after teaching. I'd been sharing my story with people in churches and schools. Now, the business world was warming to my message.

I really enjoyed getting to know people in the new world that was opening up to me. In December 1989, I was invited to be a guest on the television show
Twin Cities Live
to talk about healing from post-traumatic stress disorder. Being on that show once again reminded me of how far I'd come.

I felt sad about the other guests on the show. Their bodies were slumped in their chairs, and I could see the sadness in their faces. I could hear the anger in their voices. And they said they had already worked through their pain! They seemed to think that all they had to do to work through their pain was to talk about it.