I knew I was dead.

I was eight years old and neatly tucked into bed, sheet under my chin after my pillow fluffed.  Kiss on my cheek and the light dowsed.

I was listening to my heartbeat as I drifted off to sleep.

My heart slowed. Boom. Boom.

And then it stopped.

Children at age 8 have no experience of what to do when your heart stops. So my choices were: 1) allow that heart to stay stopped or 2) to panic.

I panicked.

I leaped out of bed, terrified that I was only a half step from the pearly gates.

What would an 8 year old do with a stopped heart and a panicked brain?

Well, this one raced through the kitchen, into the bathroom and took a drink of water.

A long drink.

Fortunately, my cure worked.

I checked my heart and it was pounding.

Hard and fast. Boom Boom Boom.

I had dodged the bullet. Escaped the final destination. Side-stepped the end.

I crawled back into bed with relief that I could continue for another day.

Remember this the next time your 8 year old finds monsters under the bed.

Their heart could have stopped, you know.