2020 was a time of death and rebirth for me.

The truth of the matter is that we all have our own pandemic story—a story of how our lives were heading in one direction but forced to pivot into another. We were all faced with the challenge of creating a new reality for ourselves. It was a year that changed everything.

I do not write my story to be insensitive to the world around me. I recognize that there were many people losing loved ones and struggling in harder ways. But this is my truth, this is my story, and I stand firm in its power to bring light to the death of 2020.

I should preface this blog by saying that I graduated high school in 2018 and spent a little more time than most trying to decipher my next steps. It is challenging for most eighteen-year-olds to know what they want the rest of their life to look like. But, on top of this, I was simultaneously learning how to live life with a disability. Do I go away to college or do I stay home? Can I even go to college? Will I ever be able to leave my family and friends if I do not drive or have a car? I had all these heavy questions, yet no one that I could turn to for a direct answer. The weight of my disability was invisible to everyone around me.

Except for me.

I knew the pain, hurt, and devastation that came along with experiencing hardship through what should have been my “most cherished years.” These feelings and heavy questions led me to choosing an online university (Grand Canyon University) and starting a blog. I finally had two things in my life that I knew were certain—my love for Arizona and writing.

In May of 2020, I was scheduled to begin a job at a resort in the Grand Canyon. I spent time preparing for this adventure and was feeling excited to endure my own version of a “college experience.” But instead, I found myself even more confined to the limitations of something.

COVID stripped me of the little freedoms I was learning to have, and I went back to a place of darkness. The same questions as before remained, but the weight got heavier. I was hopeless in this thought that I would never find my way to a good life while being blind.

It’s needless to say that the pandemic changed my life. But what I could not see then was that it was all for the better.

When restrictions were beginning to be lifted, my grandparents decided to take my brother and me on a road trip around Michigan. The four of us knew that being out in nature would soothe our souls during such a time as this. We began our road trip in the Lower Peninsula and crossed the Mackinac Bridge after a visit to Mackinac Island.

Our adventure was tailored around seeing the different waterfalls, lakes, and nature parks. The morning of my near-death experience was spent at the beautiful Tahquamenon Falls. When we were done there, we loaded up the back of my Grandpa’s truck and headed for Whitefish Point.

My ten-year-old brother, Christos, and I were sitting in the backseat together when I suddenly felt a wave of exhaustion come over me. I quickly asked my brother for a pillow and fell face-first into a deep rest. As I was in this deep rest, my mind could recognize the fear within my soul and the numbness that spread across my body. Fight or flight woke me up and gave me just enough energy to reach for my brother’s knee and say, “I don’t feel good.” My brother exclaimed for help, and at a glance, I saw the fear in my Grandpa’s eyes through his black-rimmed glasses in the rearview mirror.

A sense of reality was suddenly lost on me.

It could have been a matter of seconds or minutes, but the next thing I knew was an unfamiliar face staring back at me, trying to keep me alive. He was checking my vitals and using his knuckles to jolt my chest every time he saw my eyelids again. Meanwhile, my mind knew it was only a matter of time before I would be gone from this Earth.

This fear allowed me to open my eyes one more time. I looked over to my left and saw my Grandma staring at me from the driver’s seat with bravery and hope that I would be okay. My heart did not want to say the words, but I knew I wanted them to be my last. “Grandma, I love you. And tell everyone else I love them, too,” I said with courage.

My eyes were fluttering, and with just enough time, my Grandma grabbed my hand and said, “Oh Electra, we all love you too.”

Another jolt to my chest came, but I couldn’t be saved.

I entered a different spiritual realm and found myself trapped inside this dark tunnel. I spoke nothing other than negativity in this realm. I was angry and frustrated that this was the end of my life. Why are you taking me now? I am so young. How could you do this to my parents? What about my siblings? There’s so much more I wanted to do on Earth—what about that?

These questions went unanswered until I saw the light at the end of the tunnel.

This light took me to the cloud tops, where my soul went to ease. As I nestled into the clouds, all I could see was the sunset of eternity and a perfectly blossomed tree. This is Heaven. And in the presence of Jesus, there is nothing short of peace.

My spirit expressed the outpour of light even after my body was dead. No more vision loss. No more hearing aids. No more wrestle with the doctors. No more anxiety or heavy questions. There is no more homework (ha!).

I know my family is going to be so sad, but please tell them I am safe here. Tell them that it is peaceful here. Tell them that I am home.

It was a place my soul never wanted to leave.

Four hours of unconsciousness later, I found myself back to the darkness behind my eyes. My ears could hear my Grandma reminiscing aloud on all the memories and good times we shared together throughout life. But I couldn’t grasp the reality of what just happened until I opened my eyes and saw Earthside again.

As my eyes opened just the slightest, I could only see the bright LED lights staring back at me. My Grandma’s voice changed. “Hi Electra,” she said with relief. The next thing I knew, the nurse came to my side and asked, “Do you know who is sitting next to you?”

“My Grandma,” I said confidently but with great sorrow. That small statement led me to a flood of tears.

Internally, all I could think was how badly I wanted to go back. Back to the place of peace and pure joy. “I saw Heaven,” I said softly in the break of tears.

I could not believe it. Neither could my mom as she came rushing through the door to see me. She came to the bedside with a look of grief and deep sadness. She was mourning loss, and so was I.

We piled into the hospital bed together and attempted to sleep for the remainder of the night. Except, I frantically pressed the panic button every time my eyes would fall into a slight rest. I was so incredibly scared to go through the act of dying again.

The next morning, I was met with discharge papers and the charted notes of having a “fluke” episode. I took those papers and walked out of the hospital knowing that this was not just a “fluke.”

This was real. This was my testimony.

It was then that I realized this story might be misunderstood by most. I knew that it was not often you heard of near-death experiences, just like it is not often you hear of sixteen-year-olds mysteriously going blind. It was another invisible scar added to my track record.

But for the first time in my life, I knew that I was not carrying anything alone.

There was a God in the small details.

Just how there was a retired paramedic on vacation in the town I needed emergency help in. Just how my vitals never fluctuated the entire time I was going through my near-death experience. Just how my life nearly ended in Paradise, Michigan.

Believe me, there is a God in the small details of life.

Even when we feel that there is no hope, there is a God bringing life to death, light to darkness, and a message to the mess. The things that I was longing for during the pandemic now have meaning and value in my life. It was a matter of trusting God in those small details and watching His timing reveal what Heaven on Earth looks like.