The First Time I Died

How Death Found a Way For Me to Live & Be Free

Photo by Sharon McCutcheon on Unsplash

The first time I died was in high school when I decided to leave my dad after one too many of his relapses. He was my primary caretaker after my parents split up when I was eight years old. In this ordinary world, it seemed odd for a little girl to stay living with her dad back then in the ’80s. In the non-ordinary world, it was our karma, our souls’ contract with each other.