I Do Not Remember…

I do not remember my death. I remember the last words spoken, but I do not remember dying.

It was St. Patrick’s Day and I was riding with 3 friends. Tom was at the wheel of his brand new used Toyota Celica, Michele sat shotgun while I rode in back with Jerry. We were high school juniors who had just bought concert tickets. We were going to see Journey. Our favorite rock n roll band was on Tour and playing the Miami Orange Bowl. I remember the feeling of camaraderie mixed with wonder, we were given permission by parents to go to a rock n roll concert, unsupervised!

We were all high with the excitement and making plans for the show as we drove fast through the stormy night. Tom had Infinity on the stereo and we were rocking. Steve Perry’s melodious voice blasting out of newly installed stereo speakers, a teen dream moment.

It was a stormy night as south Florida tropical thunder and heavy rain pounded the car, a roar heard over the music.

“Wheel in the Sky” was playing when I wondered aloud,

“Why are we taking Military Trail?” The direct route to Tom’s house from the mall was I-95.

Tom answered, “I-95 is too dangerous in this storm”.

That’s when he hit us, head on. A pickup truck driven by a drunk named Buzz. The highway patrol estimates we were traveling 55 miles an hour. Buzz didn’t realize he was driving north in a south bound lane. It was 5 cars he destroyed with that mistake and 9 human lives.

Days after while visiting at the hospital; Tom, Michele and Jerry described the scene I did not remember.

Rain was dumping and the debris field ran for ¼ mile. A collision course spread across 3 lanes of traffic and sidewalks. Buzz was thrown onto a grassy median, barely a bruise.

Michele had a severly dislocated hip and broken shoulder. Tom took 90 stitches across his face, with a broken ankle. Jerry was also cut bruised and broken. Our car was the most damaged, not a panel on that little brown Celica shone anymore, it was crushed like a tin can.

Michele described how they pulled her from the car, her left leg dangling from a dislocated hip, she said her leg was turned around, backwards. She walks with a limp to this day. Then Jerry told me how paramedics cut into the crushed metal box because I was trapped inside and tangled up in the back seat. As they worked on extracting me, my heart stopped and I died.

Jerry described a rush of paramedics, one cutting open my shirt, the other placing defibrillator pedals on my chest and a third operating the machine. He described freaking out, of being restrained by a cop, unable to accept his girlfriend had just died.

It was strange to hear, the story of my death from Jerry. He was the the boy I gave my virginity, only the relationship had ended abruptly in teen angst and we decided instead, to just be friends.

7 of us were loaded onto Ambulances that raced off in search of Emergency Rooms. Florida had a rash of Medical Malpractice cases swamping the system and Hospitals were leary of accepting dire cases. Jerry described not knowing what to do and how scared he was of telling my mom. This was 1983 in West Palm Beach, Florida and my mom Pat Pepper-Schwab, was the Mayor. Pat was very intense and a powerful lady. Jerry said he told the Highway Patrol, it was like having Wonder Woman for a mother.

I first gained consciousness in an Intensive Care unit. My gentle mannered step father Ron was standing near praying softly “Oh, J-Honey, sweet J-Honey…Oh, J.” His warm soft voice drew me out of darkness. Surgical lights overhead blinded as I opened my eyes startling a Doctor.

Ron had called him. My face was damaged pocked with shattered glass and an ER doctor was not suited to do the work. This Doctor was a plastic surgeon from Boca Raton. As I woke and opened my eyes, he held a tweezer pulling glass from my eye sockets.

The moment like a memory GIF. A brief flash, a fragment. Immediately sinking back into darkness.

The next memory was waking up in a sunny room. First thought, I need to pee. This memory is vivid. The Pain. My head throbbed eyeballs hurt every cell of my body hurt a heavy plaster cast encased my right foot. But I had to pee. No clue where I was, just that I needed to pee and my body was not cooperating.

Sitting up took Herculean effort. Dropping sideways to the floor, I crawled into the bathroom. Pulling myself along the floor bewildered at the condition of my body. Excruciating pain resonated with each movement. What happened to me!?

I had no memory of the accident. None. Sitting on the toilet, I cried thinking about getting back to the bed. Asking for help, never sat well with me. A rebel with pride is a dangerous combination. Later, I realized a buzzer on the wall would have brought immediate aide. I screamed out loud, terrified. Then my mother the political Wonder Woman found me and explained I had an accident.

The recovery was slow. My death occurred from a Traumatic Brain Injury (they did not use this label in 1983) and little understanding of brain injuries existed in the realm of Western medicine. After 28 doctors visits in 6 months, I landed in New York City with the Head Medical Director of Squibb Pharmaceuticals. He had lost his only son to a brain injury in a skydiving accident and was considered a world class brain expert.

His offices perched atop a sleek glass and metal tower overlooking Central Park.

He studied my brain with machines, poked and prodded my body asking loads of questions. He had the entire top two floors as a private clinic. It was amazing and I loved every moment with this kind Yale educated surgeon who so wanted to understand the human brain.

After two days, He sent me off with headache medicine and a large yellow manila envelope containing copies of all the CAT scans and medical findings. One vivid moment is a lingering memory.

He said “Hang onto those films, you will need them one day.”

That didn’t happen, the films were lost long ago with millions of miles of memories.

I do not remember my death. I do not remember many moments from my life. The brain injury damaged short term memory. It is challenging and leads to many, many losses.

Yet, it is with sincere and deep peace of mind gratitude and trust that I share my story with you. Dying and resuscitation is an energetic experience. Death is soul energy leaving the body. The soul is an energetic resonance that gives you life. Your soul is navigating the body.

Death changes a person, greatly.

One of the greatest gifts to come from my death, are expanded psychic abilities.

A multitude of expanded awarenesses exist beyond our 5 physical senses. A realm of Transpersonal communications include: Psychic, Expanded Sensory Awareness, Clairvoyance, Clairsentience, Clairaudient, Empathic, Remote Viewing, Psychometry, Mediumship, Channeling, Intuition and Healing Touch.

You sense see know and feel a great deal more than your own 5 senses. Many individuals who have experienced Death and returned have expanded sensory abilities.

We know things the majority of humans do not know. We sense more, truly we do.

Psychic Awareness is my co-pilot. A peter pan shadow hovering at the periphery. Expanded psychic awareness brings in oceans of information to surf and sail. At times it was akin to drowning with too much information. At other times, like caring for my Mother during a 9 year battle with ALS, it was a Divine gift.

We are so much more than we believe.

To be continued..

Spread Your Wings

When we finally move through a soul lesson, there comes a day when we notice that whatever we’ve been working on, isn’t with us any more. The anger we had toward a certain person has dissolved. The fear we had about a situation has left us. The worry we had about something in the future isn’t there. The shame we had about something has disbanded.

We were one way, wrapped up in our repetitive thoughts and emotional drama and hurt and blame… and then, suddenly it’s all gone away.

We’re just not there any more: we’re not in relationship to that person or situation or thought like that any more.

Sometimes we release it.

Sometimes we are cleared.

Sometimes we have been working on it so long, we grow past it.

As you move through life, you’ll experience these sticky things: anger, fear, worry, shame, guilt around people and events and situations in your life. Until one day, you’ll be moseying around doing something ordinary, and you’ll think of this sticky thing, and you’ll find… it’s not there any more.

It is gone.

You have worked through it.

You have moved past it.

You have let go.

There is no longer any emotional trigger! It is not there any more! And sing Hallelujah, for yet another soul lesson, moved through! We can get very far with our self awareness when we try.

There are soul stories with a long breath (decades and generations to complete) and we experience short soul stories. Some stories we inherit and others we create. Yet, when we allow, accept and do our part it will heal. You shall be free of the restrictions created by the experience.

This is wisdom working.

This is your soul singing.

This is Now.

The Forever Full of More Place

Whatever Will Be | Jennifer Pepper | Sky Farm Readings







Time to go, she stated
Where do we go?
Inside, she whispered
Now, is the time
to go Inside
The forever full of more place
Oh, the Inside sounds very nice,
how can we get there?
By letting go

– Jennifer Pepper