Falling

Ten, fifteen years ago, living in St. Charles.

We lived in a two story duplex, me and Zen. I was sleeping one night, upstairs, dressed in a long nightgown. I heard our cat crying outside the back door and went downstairs to let her in. I wasn't all the way awake, didn't want to wake up all the way, just wanted to go back to sleep, sleep, sleep.

On the way down the stairs, I tripped on the bottom of my nightgown. I wasn't more than halfway down the stairs. I fell, all the way down to the bottom. I remember, very clearly, being startled, but not afraid. It happened quickly, but at the same time, slowly. I felt as if I were in some kind of warm bubble.

I said that I fell, but really, I flew. Didn't hit the steps and roll, or bounce off the walls. I was airborne. When my flight ended I was on the floor at the bottom of the stairs, in a space about four feet square, curled into a pretzel, with my head smack up against the back door.

I can't explain how much of a miracle this was. I fell. It was a good ten feet. I was protected. Held within that bubble, made to land in the only position possible that wouldn't kill me. And I had no injuries. No breaks, no bruises, nothing. I wasn't even sore the next day.

I hold on to that flight. I know someone protected me that day. I could have been very badly hurt. At the very least -- no. I could have been killed. But I was saved. I know, I KNOW, that someone saved me. And that helps when I think about mortality and eternity.