Is THIS The Day I Will Die?

One month ago last night, just four short weeks, a mere twenty-eight days, my life was changed dramatically.  Because it was the first time I ever truly thought I was going to die.

If you know me, you might remember I’ve had many near-death experiences in my almost 48 years on this earth. These include a burst brain aneurysm that left me in a coma for five days, several near misses on my Harley, and a four-car pile up that should have been fatal.

And, there was that time the parachute didn’t open correctly while I was skydiving. Oh, and that fuel explosion on our boat that left me with 2^nd and 3^rd degree burns. And the time we got rufied at a bar and both woke up in jail with no memory. Of course, I'll never forget our close call with the tragic events of 9/11.  

But I can honestly say I still had never really had a moment in all these events where I had time to consciously prepare myself for death. I had never actually thought to myself, “I’m going to die RIGHT NOW.” Contemplating the possibility of dying was always in hindsight, just a mystifying afterthought.

That is, until four weeks ago.

I'm sorry I can’t make this short. I’m a storyteller, and to exorcise my demons I must tell this story the way I experienced it. And it is this:

One month ago, at 11:15 p.m. on Friday, April 17, 2015, my husband, Dick, and I were confronted and attacked at our home by a masked intruder armed with a machete. And that is when I had my first conscious thought that I was going to die.

It started off as an ordinary Friday evening at home. Dick hadn’t been feeling well, so he went to bed about 8:30 p.m. That’s not an unusually early bedtime for him. He works very hard in the tropical heat, and often falls asleep on the couch or goes to bed shortly after having his dinner and a shower.

It’s also not unusual for me to sit up and write, surf the net, or watch TV in the front room for hours after he goes to bed. I’ve always been a night owl, it’s when my brain is most active, and I can’t fall sleep until the wee hours of the night. 

It was about 10:30 p.m. when I heard noises outside, so I grabbed the big Maglite flashlight and went out to look, literally, around the outside.

We live in a rather odd, roundish-octagon-shaped house that sits up on cement stilts. It has sliding glass doors on five of the eight sides of the house, all of which are flanked by louvered glass windows on each side. It also has a covered veranda that wraps around the entire house. And I literally went to look "around" the outside. 

So, I took the big flashlight, and shined it around the veranda, and down to the canal in our back yard, checking the dock to see if maybe someone was trying to steal Nemo, my tiny but beloved little boat. Seeing nothing out of the ordinary and hearing no more noises, I came back in.

A few minutes passed, maybe ten or more, and I heard more noises. Once again, I took the Maglite out and shined it around the other side of the wrap-around verandah. The motion lights had not been set off and I still saw nothing, but our “yard dog” Foxxi did. She growled, and at first raised her hackles, but then immediately dropped her body posture and wagged her tail.

I thought she had just seen a table that had been broken recently by some workmen and was still lying on its side in pieces on the veranda. I didn’t see anything unusual, and she didn’t react strongly, so I didn’t either. My thoughts were that the broken table had startled her, but that she then she realized what it was. I thought it was nothing.

I didn’t know at the time how very wrong I was.

Another ten or fifteen minutes after returning inside, I heard noises for a third time, and what sounded like a grunt or a quiet, gruff voice. But Foxxi was not barking and none of the outside motion lights had been set off, and the sounds seemed to be very close by. And that's when I finally went and woke the hubby up.

Since he hadn’t been feeling well, he had not been sleeping deeply. He said that he thought he had heard something, too. 

This time, we both went back out on the veranda. While Dick took the Maglite downstairs to look around, I smoked a cigarette near the front door, thinking how mad he was going to be at me for waking him up to look around for no reason. Finding nothing amiss downstairs, he started to return up the stairs.

And this is where I should remind everyone that I’ve always been terrified of the dark. I’m always hearing noises that don’t seem right, and sometimes I wake Dick up to check things out. And in every case before now, it’s always been nothing. Always, just me being a scaredy-cat.

I offer that information as the reason why neither one of us thought to grab a weapon, many of which I have hidden strategically throughout the house.

And yes, I AM a freak like that. Look, we live in a small village Belize in Central America, but this isn’t just about that. I did the same in Iowa. See, I know from working in the prison system that terrible things happen to people everywhere. I’ve heard plenty of horror stories, and personally know people who have had horrible things happen--in all parts of the world--who were thankful to escape with their lives to tell the story. I had always hoped to do the same.

After finding nothing, Dick started coming back up. And just as he got to the top of the stairs, I saw a vision that will be burned into my memory for the rest of my life. It was like something out of a Stephen King story.  A man with no face, brandishing a long machete, appeared from around the corner of the house. 

It is an image of terror I will see in my nightmares forever.

The intruder had been hiding on the other side of the verandah the entire time Dick was downstairs and I was standing there, alone and unaware, smoking my cigarette. It was at that moment that I realized Dick and I were also unarmed.

As I watched, in what seemed like slow motion, the intruder moved up to meet my unarmed husband at the top of the stairs with his machete. For a moment, I stood terrified and frozen in my tracks, unable to make a sound or move a muscle.

It was at this moment that the thought hit me, “This could be the day that day we die." 

Events such as this have happened to plenty of others all over the world, and I had no reason to think our story would be any different.

The guy was covered from head to toe. He had an oversized hoodie pulled in a small, tight circle around his face. He had something over his face, like a thin cloth or a mask, so that you couldn’t even see the whites of his eyes, his skin color, or anything distinguishing. He even wore gloves, pants and shoes, not the typical attire for Belize. He had, it seems, put a measure of thought into his plans.

He said not a single word, and didn’t immediately attack, but grunted and gestured, pointing with his machete, indicating that we should both head into the house. As I backed up, fear took over and I broke into a run for the door. At the same time, Dick yelled at me to lock the door. And then Dick turned, and did the unthinkable.

I watched in horror as Dick rushed at the assailant. As I slammed and locked the sliding glass door, I started screaming “CALL THE COPS!!” as loud as I could in hopes that the neighbors would hear. I ran to find my phone and grabbed the first huge knife I could find off the magnetic strip in the nearby kitchen.

Meanwhile, my husband and the assailant were wrestling on the veranda. The only sounds I could hear were from the struggle between the two men, grunts and groans and bodies connecting. If any of our three dogs barked, I never once heard them. I honestly can’t even say where they were during any of this.

By the time I returned to the door with butcher knife in hand, trying to dial the number for the police, the scuffle was already ending. As Dick ran towards the front door, I unlocked it and let him in. The attacker had already turned and ran down the stairs. 

Later, the neighbors told us they heard footsteps running on their dock, and then a splash in the water in the canal behind our houses. There was also a boat that was heard speeding away from the area shortly thereafter, but we’ll probably never know if it was carrying him.

Dick was understandably shaken up, and pumping adrenaline. I was terrified he would be cut up, stabbed, or worse. As I checked him over, we could not believe he was not bleeding from anywhere. He had a couple lumps on his head where the guy had hit him while they grappled with the machete, and a couple scratches, but no serious injuries.

Relief washed over me, as I had been envisioning myself making a panicked, wild drive in the dark on a shitty excuse for a road, to the tiny hospital an hour away. I imagined myself watching as the love of my life bled out in the truck before we reached help.

Thankfully, that was not to be.

Afterwards, Dick told me that when he turned on the assailant, he grabbed the machete by the blade, and all he could think was “thank god it isn’t sharp.” Apparently the assailant had made a dull choice for a weapon. While they struggled over the machete, Dick said he held the blade with one hand while he punched at the perpetrator, and the intruder did the same.

It wasn’t until three days afterwards that we found the thin, almost imperceptible slits in the screens of the windows that flank the sliding doors in the spare bedroom. One was at the exact same height needed to slide a hand in and unlock the sliding glass doors. The other incision was at the lowest part on the other side, where a hand could reach in and pull out the wooden brace placed in the track to prevent the door from being slid open.

We also found out afterwards that the motion light had been unscrewed at some point. We’re still not quite sure when.

Whoever the assailant was, he knew EXACTLY the steps we take to try to protect ourselves from an intrusion. And he knew our dog too. Even more telling was that she knew him as well. She does not let strangers approach the house unannounced. 

If the intruder had not been interrupted, I believe this story may have ended very differently. Who can say?

But late at night, when I’m trying to sleep, it’s all I can think about. And even though we have have installed even more advanced security and alarm systems, and keep our weapons even closer, I don’t know if I’ll ever sleep through the night, or feel safe, again.

And every noise I hear, while I lie awake in our bed at night, begs the question, “Is THIS the day I will die?”