Chapter 4: I'm Not Insane

Royal Light Metaphysical Fiction by Dennis Bruce Shipman (774 words)
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After a long day at the surf shop, my father returned home. I needed to have a conversation with him regarding my near-death experience, but finding the right moment to discuss a topic that everyone seemed to be avoiding was proving to be quite challenging.

The tiredness and exhaustion were evident in his weary brown eyes, silently pleading for some much-needed rest and relaxation. His face, weathered and rough, bore the marks of a life spent outdoors under the scorching sun and constant trade winds. His once sun-kissed blonde hair now sported a few strands of gray, unkempt and reflecting his sun-kissed complexion. He preferred a clean-shaven look, with no inclination towards having a beard or any facial hair. Standing tall at six feet, his vibrant and kind-hearted nature illuminated every room he entered, accompanied by a warm and welcoming smile that perfectly matched his friendly demeanor.

"I discovered the data I had been seeking," I informed him. He glanced at me with a mix of confusion and curiosity. "It's referred to as a Near Death Experience." He acknowledged my statement with a nod, although unsure of how to react.

“You know, Royal, maybe you should see a psychiatrist.”

"I'm not insane. I am fully aware of what I encountered," I exclaimed with frustration. Recognizing that escalating the situation into a shouting match wouldn't be productive, I decided to alter my approach. "I cannot provide concrete evidence of my encounter, despite my strong desire to do so. You may choose to deny my experience, but I am unable and unwilling to do the same."

"I trust you, Son, but I find it challenging to grasp the depth of your experience. It lies completely beyond the realm of my comprehension. I lack any personal frame of reference to relate it to."

My father was born in Honolulu in the year 1975, a time when the cash rewards for surfing competitions were starting to rise. When he turned 21, he emerged victorious at the 1996 Hawaii World Surfing Championships held at Banzai Pipeline, earning himself a substantial sum of money. With the winnings, he invested in the necessary equipment to craft surfboards and used his profits to establish a surf shop in Hale'iwa, a renowned surf destination on the North Shore, just a short distance from the famous Pipeline. As time went on, he managed to accumulate enough funds to venture into real estate investments.

Coinciding with his championship win, my father also started a romantic relationship with my mother, Sandra “Sandy” Rugger from California, who was also an accomplished surfer in her own right. Two years later, they exchanged vows and I arrived two years after their marriage.

"Son, you mean the world to me. I understand that you have gone through a severe accident, which may have resulted in lasting damage to your brain. My utmost priority is your recovery and well-being."

“I saw Mom, and Grandpa. They both have light bodies that are incredibly beautiful. And, they are alive, vibrant and full of life.”

My comment appeared to have pushed my father over his limit, which was not my intention, even though I had hoped it would bring him some cheer. Now, we needed to figure out what course of action to take next?

I was 15 when my mother tragically lost her life in a car accident. A reckless driver collided into the driver's side of the vehicle. According to the doctor, she passed away immediately.

Upon overhearing our conversation, my Grandmother emerged from her bedroom, particularly alert upon catching snippets of dialogue concerning her spouse, my Grandfather.

My Grandfather was born in San Clemente, California in 1946. He grew up as a practicing Catholic, a fisherman, and a dedicated surfer. He had the opportunity to ride the waves of "Killer Dana" before a harbor was constructed at Dana Point, resulting in the loss of several surf spots. In 1967, during the height of the Vietnam War buildup, he was drafted into the military.

Unfortunately, at the young age of 22, he sustained injuries that required him to be treated at Tripler Army Medical Hospital in Honolulu. Following his separation from the military, he decided not to return to the mainland and settled in Honolulu. Sadly, he was later diagnosed with Hodgkin's Disease, a form of cancer caused by exposure to Agent Orange used in the war from 1961 to 1971. Tragically, he passed away in 1993 at the age of 47, seven years prior to my birth.

"I can see the love you and Grandma had for them," I expressed, gazing into their mournful eyes. Tears had already started to well up on all three of our faces. As we embraced each other gently, the weeping began.

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