Work, Life, Mortality & Beethoven's Ninth Symphony

I've been wrong all these years about the last moments of my life. Based upon the countless anecdotes I've read regarding NDEs (near death experiences), I thought a million images would flicker simultaneously across the movie-screen in my mind before I saw the white light. This morning, however, I only saw white - inside my brain and outside the windshield.

I left the house in Avon Lake at 4:30AM to make it on time to my job in Solon, Ohio, fifty miles away. I was giving myself three whole hours to make the 60 minute commute. My gas tank was three-quarters full, and although I was hungry I decided to forego any food or drink until I was safely at my destination. Nothing worse than being stranded on the highway when Nature starts calling. After brushing off the Sedona, I cranked up Beethoven's Ninth Symphony, backed out of the drive, crunched through some un-plowed back streets, and then crept down Route 83 South towards the I90E entrance.

This is going to be a bad one. I already knew that, but I've been car-sledding along Cleveland's Highways To Hell for the last 30-odd years so I figured I'd be okay. Just take it slow. About 3 miles an hour should do it. At least I was the only one on the road. I mean how bad can it really get?

I found out a few miles later. Herbert von Karajan and the Berlin Philharmonic were already knocking out the final coda on Movement One, and I hadn't even reached the next exit yet at Crocker Road. Damn, this is going to take HOURS! And then it just happened, like when your satellite dish suddenly loses the TV signal. WHITE OUT. Not the kind of "this sucks" visibility where you can still navigate through the hazy screen of snowflakes. I mean WHITE OUT.

Just WHITE. All around and filling every window. So WHITE you suddenly wonder if you're actually still moving, that is until you feel the road beneath your new tires start spinning and your anti-lock brakes pulse like compression stockings. The snowflakes and Beethoven's fugato fill your eyes and ears with WHITE. No random images of Mount Rushmore, Buddy Rich live at the Agora, your wedding day or even The Big Lebowski. Just WHITE.

Then you stop moving. The van, the tires, the road. Everything stops. WHITE. And then Beethoven's second movement is suddenly alluding to the Ode To Joy theme from the Fourth Movement. I've noticed that a hundred times before, but it still surprises me every time. Not knowing what else to do, you exit your vehicle and walk around trying to get your bearings. Which way am I facing? Where's the road? For a moment, the whiteness abates, and you see the guard rail. Not even a foot from your passenger side door. You don't know why, but you get back in the mini-van, back up, point your front bumper east and forge ahead again. Beethoven's serene Third Movement has started, gracing your inner ears. The snow-blindness almost seems comforting now, like a blanket swaddled in a lullaby. Minutes roll and slide into more minutes.

The next WHITE OUT isn't a shock.  For a moment, you find yourself wondering if this isn't still the first WHITE OUT. You question whether you ever came to that first stop. This time the brakes only shudder slightly before you come to a gentle, rocking halt. You sit and listen as Beethoven wends through two more variations of theme one before the squall recedes. You put the Sedona in gear again and navigate the shoulder for a hundred yards before merging back onto I90 east. You drive another five minutes or so before the universe comes crashing back into your senses. F--- THIS! Not today. Not like this.

A minute later, the Fourth Movement has begun, and I'm calling and leaving a message for my boss. "Not today. Sorry." Then I call my wife, Jen, tell her I'm heading back home, and then lose myself in The Ode To Joy. Jen only has one question for me when I stagger into our back door an hour later. "Why did you even go out there in first place?" I mutter something about my job, my life and how I hate being one of the weak people who miss work because of the weather. She calls me an idiot and makes me a bowl of cereal and a cup of coffee. I eat, watch the Today Show, think about God and Nature and Beethoven and Life and decide to take a nap. As I drift off to sleep, I hum the Ode To Joy and feel myself spinning and slipping, headlong and helpless in a universe of WHITE.