In 1979, I came to believe beyond all doubt that I no longer had a reason to live. My ex-wife remarried. Her husband was a good person and I knew he could easily replace me as a father and be a greater father than I could ever imagine that I would be.
I quit my engineering job with the telephone company, sold everything I owned, except my tent and motorcycle, and I gave away all of my guitars, sound equipment and amplifiers to the members of the country western band I played in. I had my plan to complete a short bucket list and then end my life.
1979 was a very wet year in Nebraska. I hated the rain, and I longed for the sunny days of my childhood in New Mexico. So, the top of my bucket list was to go to Roswell, New Mexico, roam the desert around the town as I did in my youth, and then end my life in the sun, and let the sun bleach my bones. (Kind of morbid, but that was my mind set.)
I packed a couple of changes of clothes and my tent in late August, and set out on my motorcycle for Roswell. As I topped the Raton Pass I saw buzzards circling high in the sky. I smiled and whispered that soon they would have something to eat.
A few hours later, about fifty miles out of Roswell, rain started pouring hard. The frogs in the desert took delight and hopped around on the highway, making the highway slippery as their blood and guts squirted under my tires. It was too dangerous to try to avoid them. Finally, in Roswell, I rode to my old neighborhood and sat in front of my old house. I saw my neighbor in her house, in a wheel chair. I was saddened. She baby sat with us numerous times in my childhood. She was such a sweet lady, but she was tough, as well. And now, she seemed so frail and helpless.
I was soaking wet, and the rain continued to pour. I thought it would pass by morning then I could go about the business of dying. But, the weatherman had different ideas. Three days later, it was still raining. In fact, it had rained eleven inches in the three days. That was more than the normal rain fall for a year in Roswell. I became angry, packed up the motorcycle and headed for Las Cruces, New Mexico.
I camped north of Las Cruces in a little state park in the desert, about a mile east ot the Rio Grand River. It was beautiful, sunny, warm and I felt at peace and at home. I was the only person in the entire park. I spent the next three days just walking around in the desert, loving every minute. Then one morning I decided it was time to die. I took my rope and walked toward my motorcycle. I was going to tie the rope to a post, run it through my sissy bar, tie it to my neck and blast my motorcycle at top speed to rip my head off.
As I walked toward my cycle, I was thinking, “What a beautiful day to die.” There were no clouds visible in front of me. Then I heard a loud explosion. I turned around to see huge, dark thunder clouds rolling in at enormous speed. The rain came so fast that I ran in an inch of water and was soaked to the bone before I could get to my tent. When in the tent, I shook my fist and screamed at God, “You leave me alone! You can't stop me! I will die in the sunshine, you can't stop me!”
Suddenly, the hair on my arms and my neck began to rise. I knew then that lightening was going to strike. Again, I screamed at God again to leave me alone. Then a loud explosion. The lightening had hit a brick pump house less than a hundred feet from me. I looked out the tent to see a corner of the pump house gone, and smoke rising gently from the bricks. I decided I would wait a day or so, and try again.
A few days later, I took my rope in hand and tied it off, pushed it through my sissy bar and sat on my motorcycle preparing to die. Suddenly, out of nowhere, either a vision or a hallucination, I don't know; I saw a child by his mother at a grave site. The child asked his mother, “Is my dad with grandpa, now?” His mother assured him that his dad was well with grandpa, but there was no conviction in her voice to indicate she truly believed it.
Then, just as suddenly an angry face appeared almost nose to nose in my face, screaming, “I hate my dad, I hate my dad! He left me alone! I hope he is burning in hell! He's nothing but a coward!"
I came to realize, that the two children were my son at age 6 and at age 15. I was shaken to the core! I decided I needed more time to think about what I saw. I spent another three or four days walking around in the desert, thinking.
I finally decided that I would continue with my plan, but before I did, I would go to the Chiricahua Mountains in Arizona and immerse myself in the history of two of my heroes, Geronimo and Cochise.
I stopped in Bowie, Arizona to rest for the night. I had a hamburger at the hotel and decided to call my son. He asked me, “Dad, when are you coming home.” I lied, “I have to get a job, and in about six months I'll come see you.”
“Dad, you are a liar! You are never coming back and you know it!” he screamed.
The blood ran out of my head and my body collapsed in the phone booth. The power of those words, the knowledge that my son was the only person that knew what I was up to, and the vision of the days before just was too overwhelming. I told my son I would call him later, and I went to my room to plan out the next day's route to the Chiricahua Mountains. But, I was very deeply shaken and haunted by my son's words.
On the maps, I saw there was an “improved” road out of Bowie that would make a twelve mile trip out of a sixty mile trip by the highway. Well, that twelve mile “improved” road was a jeep trail across the desert that would often disappear. The only way to get back on it was to look ahead and see where it picked up. That twelve mile trip took six hours. It was a rough go. But, it gave me more time to process.
The trail took me into the mountains through the Apache Pass, where Chochise ambushed military water wagons. After a few masacres, the Army established Fort Bowie about a mile from the pass. I sat in the pass and immersed myself in the feeling of the horrible struggles that took place there. I left with a somber mood.
Later, I approached the road to the Chochise National Monument. A vulture perched on a fence post watched me with interest. I stopped and assured him that if he hung around, there would be a carcus to feast on. He flew away, and I continued into the canyon. I could feel the spirits of the band of Native Americans that once hid in those mountains. The true freedom fighters on their last efforts.
I found a campsite. There was a shower house, and across a dry stream bed was the campsite. I rode my motorcycle down in the stream bed and up the other side to get to the site. It was isolated and I could easily kill myself without intervention. I parked my bike and walked back through the dry stream bed to the shower house to relieve myself. The door closed behind me and then I heard an explosion and the area became dark as night. Rain poured down like I have never seen before. I watched out of the window as that dry stream bed filled to the very top. My motorcycle began to sink in the mud and fell over. Now, I just laughed. I spoke to God, “I guess you have me cornered now.” I knew now, that this trip was never my plan, but God's plan, and God was bound and determined to keep me alive. Still, I was not sure if I would honor God's plan. I still was not convinced that I wanted to live.
I spent three days walking around in the mountains, and on the third day I climbed up a cliff near my campsite. At the top of the cliff was a natural lookout tower. I imagined a young warrior looking down the canyon, his heart pounding in his chest as he signaled to others that the cavalry was closing in on them. I watched the hawks circling above screaming at me that I was in their domain. After a while, I began my ascent down the side of the cliff. Suddenly, I felt extreme pain in my left leg. With my body against the cliff wall, I could not see what was going on with the leg. I was sure that some one had shot me. My leg felt like it was on fire, and I felt my boot filling with blood. I continued to climb down and at the bottom of the cliff I lifted my pant leg to see a puncture wound and blood pumping out of the wound. I walked to my campsite and sat on a boulder, removed my boot to see that my leg was purple with a yellow streak in the middle of all of the purple. Blood continued to spurt out. I poured the blood out of my boot and wrung the blood out of my sock. It was a mess. Then I realized I had been bitten by a rattlesnake. My leg was still on fire, began to spasm, and cramp. I decided, this was the end, I would be dead in a few hours.
I then decided that maybe I should try to figure out why I wanted to die. I spoke frankly to my old friend, God. “You know, I am really tired of living. I want to die. And I really miss you im my life. I have never wanted anything more than to be your friend. God, if you still want me, I am yours. But, I will do nothing about this. If you want me, you have to fix it.
Suddenly, I felt a loving warmth around me. It was complete and total unconditional love. It was so intense that I cried. I had never felt unconditional love before. Even so, I left it to God to take care of the snake bite.
The next day, with my leg cramping and with spasms. I loaded up my bike to go home. I was renewed, and I just wanted to go home and be loving. God had revived me spiritually. I no longer wanted to die. I was reborn, for lack of any other words to describe my mindset.
My leg? It took eight weeks before the cramping and spasms stopped. And for the next year, they returned frequently to remind me of my new life.
