Life After...

Anyone who says drowning is a peaceful way to die has obviously never drowned. And it's never happened after falling through the thin ice of a frozen pond. There's nothing peaceful about the water hitting you like a thousand needles, piercing your skin repeatedly like rapid fire until the sting becomes an incessant burn.

The burning of your skin matches the burning of your lungs as you struggle for breath. Scraping at the surface that you can see and feel but not penetrate.

I felt a lot of things when I was drowning. Pain, fear, remorse... but there was no peace.

They told me I had been "revived." I guess my brain missed the memo. Any ability I had to feel seemed to be frozen long after my body was pulled from the water.

The steely glare of indifference I gave my husband of 10 years as he left our home was the final nail in the coffin. He knew he was fighting for a lost cause. The last thing he said to me before he walked out the door was that the ice must've gotten to my heart. One last attempt to get me to beg him to stay.

It had been over a week of solitude, and I wondered if I might cry at some point. I felt nothing as I packed photographs of a past life into boxes and spread my clothes over the half of a wardrobe that didn't use to be mine. I fell comfortably into a rhythm of alone-ness. I was even beginning to get used to feeling cold all the time.

Some nights I would wake up screaming, skin ablaze and gasping for air. I'd remember that I was alive, and that would provide me little comfort.

I quit my job. I hated it anyway, and now I couldn't even bring myself to plaster on the fake smile for phone call after mind-numbing phone call. Customer Service is a soul-sucking profession reserved for only the most relentless of extroverted optimists. I was neither of those things, but I cared about making a living. Now I am neither of those things and recklessly indifferent to the necessities of life...

This is why instead of heading straight home, I decided to head to the nearest bar.

"Whiskey. Neat."

The barkeep obliged, sliding me a tumbler of the 18 year Glenfiddich. I tipped my raised glass to him with a grateful nod when I noticed he'd given me a double.

"Just what the doctor ordered..." I muttered to no one in particular and took a savoured sip.

"That's a damn good whiskey." A deep voice broke me from my intimate moment with my drink.

I turned slowly to my right to see a rugged looking man sitting on the stool beside me. My eyes trailed along the empty bar, noting the several vacant seats further down he could've chosen. I was convinced I was giving off my best "do not disturb" vibes, so I decided to question the unwelcome stranger.

"I'm sorry, did I look like I wanted company?"

"Not at all. Which is precisely why I picked this stool." He smirked, a slight glint in his ocean blue eyes.

His face was weathered, and he needed a good shave. But I could see that underneath the roughness sat a handsome face.

"So... you gonna tell me why a pretty young thing like you is sitting in a dive bar downing expensive hard liquor at 3pm on a Wednesday?"

"Quit my job."

"Nope... try again."

I eyed him thoughtfully. He was staring intently at me like he knew that my job was at the bottom of the list of reasons I was here. I figured no harm could come from unloading on a complete stranger at a bar, so I decided to say it out loud.

"Almost died—survived. Realised I don't have a whole lot worth living for." I shrugged casually and took another sip of my drink.

There it was. The first time since it happened, I'd actually admitted it. I realised after I was 'revived' and expected to resume my life as if nothing had changed, that I really didn't care if I had died. There was nothing spectacular about my life to get back to, and that, frankly, was depressing as hell.

All the things that were now coming to an end because of the incident were dead long before then. My marriage was mediocre, and my job was mind-numbingly dull. Every day was groundhog day. And it took for me to almost die, to realise it.

"Reckon you'll find it at the bottom of a whiskey bottle?"

"That a question or the title of a bad country song?"

"Ha. Can't it be both?"

"Barkeep, another for my friend here," I called to the bartender. As he slid the glass over, I offered a toast to the stranger.

"To new friends. I'm Peggy, by the way."

"Pleasure Peggy. Name's Lucas."

We clinked glasses and sat in comfortable silence for a few moments. Something liberating happened when I told Lucas the truth. Suddenly, the whiskey felt like it was warming me all the way to my belly, not just burning my throat.

I was feeling again. It was faint, but it was there.

I sculled the last few mouthfuls of my drink and turned to Lucas. I shot him the most alluring half-smile I could manage.

"So, friend. You up for something crazy?"

He lifted his eyebrows slightly in surprise before recollecting himself. He turned to face me and cocked his head to the side.

"What'd you have in mind?"

I shook my head, made a "lock and key" motion with my hand over my mouth, and then winked at him. I felt a flutter of excitement stir in my gut—Tiny little butterflies awakening with anticipation.

He followed me willingly, and we took the long walk out toward Dunn's swimming hole. It was still frozen over, and the sight of it rattled me to my bones.

"This is where it happened... I fell through the thin ice." I explained sheepishly. Suddenly feeling foolish that I'd convinced a complete stranger to accompany me to the place where I almost died.

"Ok. So, what's so crazy about it?"

"I'm gonna walk out there... and... if I fall in, you've gotta leave me be ok?"

He looked at me intensely as though he was studying me for a few moments before slowly nodding. He didn't say a word. He simply held out his hand and gestured toward the surface of the pond.

I took a deep breath and steadied my growing nerves. I was nervous, that was good, that was something. I closed my eyes and started walking. I felt the snow turn to the slippery surface of the pond after about ten paces. I paused briefly before stepping again, keeping each step light. I walked fifty paces and then stopped to finally open my eyes.

I'd made it. I was in the middle of the pond. I turned slowly to face Lucas, who was eyeing me cautiously from the shore. I gave him an awkward 'thumbs up', which he returned, shaking his head with a slight smile.

"What now?" He called out over the ice.

I looked at the man standing at the shore and felt determination wash over me. I wasn't going slow this time. I broke out into a full sprint, struggling to grip the ice beneath my feet. I heard the cracks begin to form but pushed ahead; I could feel the ice giving way behind me as I ran. Lucas' eyes grew wide as I headed for him. He ran to the very edge of the pond and held out his hands for me.

At about two metres from the shore, I launched, tackling Lucas to the ground as the ice cracked and split behind me.

I couldn't help myself. I started laughing maniacally.

"What the hell were you thinking? Are you crazy??"

"No... I'm not crazy..." I managed to get out through ragged breaths.

"I'm alive..."

I beamed at him. The first genuine smile to cross my face in weeks. He shook his head and chuckled, running his hand through his untamed hair.

"Guess it's a good thing I picked that empty stool, huh?"

"Guess it is..."

We shared a knowing look before turning to watch the broken ice floating on the pond's surface. I rested my head on his shoulder as he wrapped his arm around me. Sitting in the snow, watching the ice, I felt myself begin to thaw...

Then it finally hit me... a hopeful taste of the peace I'd been searching for.