One day when I was five, I was sitting on the couch with my parents when I asked them a question which had always been on my mind: "When was I in the hospital, and why was I there?" My mom explained that I had never been a hospital patient. But, I had distinct memories about being in the hospital, and I began to describe some of them: the doctor and what he was doing, some of the things in the room that I saw, my mom standing to the right of me. I told them how I remembered drifting away toward the ceiling.

Everyone grew silent. It turned out that I had a sister who had died at age six, four years before my birth. This was why my parents had me so much later. No one said anything more about this for years. When I brought it up again later, my mom said that she had always thought I was my sister come back in another body, but she couldn't be sure.

My mother explained that my sister had been very shy and frightened, as though she knew something was going to happen to her. For instance, she would hide and not come out from under the table. Her shyness may have been partly responsible for her death. On that day, she went with my brothers to sell Boy Scout cookies. My parents thought she would benefit from selling cookies for/with my brothers so they insisted that she go. They walked far behind her in order to let her do things on her own to build her confidence. However, a car without its emergency brake on rolled down a hill. The three children tried to get out of the way, but my sister was much smaller and ran slower than my brothers. Two of my brothers tried to drag her along, but my parents realized that all three would get run over. They screamed, "Run!" The car ran over my sister and dragged her a long distance. My parents took her to the hospital where they were told she had a broken hip but was going to be O.K.

She was crying and hungry but the hospital would not let her eat because she might need surgery. Later my mom told me that she had given a candy bar secretly to my sister and, when the anesthesiologist got there, my mother had lied about it. So when my sister was anesthetized, it made her sick. She vomited, aspirated the candy bar, and died of suffocation.

The part I remember most is after she/I was dead. I recall looking at myself, inches away from my face as I moved slowly away from my body as it lay in the hospital bed. As a child, I did not know you could die with your eyes open. So it looked like I was looking back at myself blankly. Even now the vision does not make me feel like she/I was dead. She just didn't move.

I vaguely remember a nurse running out of the room, and the doctor holding my arm and hand. Then he left. By this time I was halfway between the bed and the ceiling. I remember the color of the hospital room, a mintish green. I remember a few other details that others have forgotten, like the fact that my dad was not in the room when I died. He had been told by my mom to call my aunt, and later was angry for not being there.

I remember that my mother was very calm, which seemed strange at the time. She was acting like she was just talking to me: walking around me, touching me, pulling my sheet up a tad as if to keep me warm and comfortable, and not crying. I could only see her motions and her mouth moving, talking to me the entire time. However, until I was older, I couldn't ask her why she was so calm right after her daughter had died. She explained it was because there was a child in the next bed who was watching everything and she did not want to frighten her. My mom said the other child was becoming very upset and was starting to cry. So my mom told her that everything would be O.K., and went on talking to my sister as if nothing had happened. Of course, my mom knew at that point my sister was dead. She was talking to my sister calmly until I was pulled backwards up towards the ceiling. I don't remember anything after I floated past the ceiling. That is where my memory ends abruptly.

It feels very strange when my mother has verified something I remember, by saying, for instance, "Yes, you did have your eyes open." That gives me the chills, hearing her refer to me as being my sister.

Melinda

luvzequine@aol.com