Miraculous Journey

Anne Strieber knew she should have died in October of 2004. That she didn’t is a testament to the marriage she shared with Whitley Strieber. In fact, she lived for another almost 11 years, until her death in 2015. This book is the story of that journey.

This is a story of sickness and of a strong marriage made stronger by adversity.  Although I’m now facing an even greater challenge than the one that begins this story, I’ve been incredibly lucky. While it is a tale of loss, it is also one of grace and the love that drives a deep marriage. But mostly, it is a story about how a person who was fairly indifferent to religion–and skeptical about most religious doctrine–began to experience real miracles happening in her own life for a time after great trauma, as if she were, somehow, entering a kind of permanent state of miracle.

In October of 2004, I came face to face with death. I took a journey that left me a profoundly changed and enriched human being. Now I am once again facing death–and this time, and this time the illness is even more serious. This is the story of that experience, too–not of any fear associated with it, though. Fearing death is a wall, and I’m on the other side of that wall, in a place of freedom.A big part of this book is sharing the journey that led to that freedom. But before we get to this latest chapter in my life, I would like to go back to the beginning of the journey, back to a rainy afternoon late in 2004, when, like most of us, I never considered death at all. Oh, I knew that I would die. But not now. Not today. Not on this day. Then everything went dark.

Strieber, Anne; Strieber, Whitley. Miraculous Journey . Crossroad Press. Kindle Edition.

How’s that for an opening to this book?

Most of the book is Whitley’s version of the events of that eight week period of her near death and eventual recovery. Because of her inner journey, only his version is understandable from our perspective.

Almost dying really clears the brush out of your brain. The aneurysm that burst inside my brain seemed to have given me some sort of celestial shock treatment. I once heard an interview with the actor Anthony Hopkins, in which he said, “Whatever God is, He has a sense of humor.” I’ve found this to be most definitely true. I had a near-death experience, but not one that involved crystal cities and angels. No, I was taken to the World of the Dead by my dead Siamese cat, who seemed disgusted by the fact that I couldn’t find my way to the place myself.

I did meet a celestial being–what I call an angel–but he wasn’t floating on a cloud. He was Xeroxing in a copy shop. And he didn’t have a message for me; he had a message–a stern one–for my loving and solicitous husband.

After I got a message saying, “You have everything you need,” something I wanted magically appeared in my life. It wasn’t manna from heaven–it was a box of dryer sheets.

Most people know their birthday. I also know my death day, or at least when it was supposed to be. I was slated to die on October 20, 2004. While now, in 2013, I have been diagnosed with a brain tumor, I’m not dead yet.

Ibid

That “angel” figures in her story, after she had recovered from the aneurism.

We went to a Kinko’s to copy an edited manuscript Whitley was about to publish in case the copy he was returning to the publisher got lost in the mail. As usual with Kinko’s, as soon as we entered, we were confronted with what seemed like a sea of complex and seemingly unworkable copy machines.

I noticed a rather stocky and unassuming-looking black man who seemed to be working one of them beautifully. I said to Whitley, “If we can’t figure out how to use the machine, we can ask this gentleman who is clearly doing just fine.” I intentionally said it loud enough for him to overhear, hoping he would offer us some advice.

The man overheard me and whirled away from the machine, pointed his finger at Whitley, and said, “You are very lucky, treasure this woman. She will live a long time and you will both someday taste the water and the wine.” Then he left.

I realized that I had met an angel. By mentioning water and wine, I knew he was referring to John 2: 8-10, where Jesus turns water into wine at the wedding feast in Cana. This man was telling us that I was going to live a long life; that Whitley no longer had to worry about me suddenly expiring, the way dear Ramona did.

In the Bible, Hebrews 13:2 tells us, “Do not forget to entertain strangers, for by so doing some people have entertained

Ibid

The journey back to ‘normality’ was long and arduous, and most of us would have given up long before the end. It says something about the couple: they work as a team, and Whitley himself says that.

Now that Anne is facing an even more serious health crisis than her 2004 aneurysm, I am reflecting on the meaning of marriage and human happiness, what it means to die, and what it means to live on.

Back in 2004, we were still deeply involved in the illusion of eternity by which most of us live. Sure, we’ll die, but not just now.

For us, that has changed. Anne has a very serious brain tumor. It is likely to take her life.

We are learning a new joy, which is to savor this day, this hour, this moment. Life used to flow past us. Now, we savor the details, the touch of a hand, the spark of a loving glance, quiet words flowing between us, the distant sound of a bell, the joy pouring from the eyes of a child as he runs along the sidewalk.

Ibid

I’m two-thirds of the way through the book. If I find any more gems to share, I’ll post them here.