One Split Second: Cataclysm and Rebirth

By Lollie Whitman Margolin

When a horrific boating accident killed her husband and left her near death, Lollie tells how using internal visualization enabled her to grow seven inches of bone in her crushed arm. Determined to live to see her young grandchildren grow, despite her family being told she had she would not live, she prevailed. She found a connection to her Angel as well as to the great Power of the Universal Mind, during the many weeks of surgical procedures.
Superlative medical care combined with her strong spiritual beliefs, support of friends, love of her children and a sense of humor were the components of her continued survival..the twine she used to weave her new life.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Xlibris US
• Release date: Jun 24, 2013
• ISBN: 9781483602578

Lollie Whitman Margolin

Lollie W.Margolin was born in New York in 1930. She received both her Bachelor of Arts and Master of Arts degrees from Hunter College in New York. She is a certified Teacher of Handicapped and has taught in New York City and New Jersey where she currently resides. Ms. Margolin has three children and six grandchildren. She was widowed at the time of the boating accident in which she was critically injured and not expected to survive. She married Charles Margolin in 1994, and facilitates a bereavement group in their community. The story of her miraculous recovery is inspiring.

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Copyright © 2013 by Lollie Whitman Margolin. 126621-MARG

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Rev. Date 06/26/2013

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To my grandchildren for whom I HAD to live

To my children who made it possible for me to live

To the loving friends and medical personnel who held my hand through the harrowing weeks and months.

Blessed Be

Memory is the guardian of all things.

Cicero

Time is a continuum, stretching forward and back infinitely.

* * *

After a nasty and bitter argument, I jumped out of the car and stood by the side of the road. Looking to the heavens I implored, Lord, how much longer am I going to have to live with this man?

I was unaware that the answer was… eight days.

Prologue

August 14, 1988

11 PM

We’re losing her.

This I heard through a haze . . . .

Our children were notified about midnight, a shocking wake-up call on a Sunday night.

* * *

I felt someone holding my hand… my left hand. Through closed lids, I saw flashing lights, heard crackling sounds. A woman kept asking me if I was Mrs. Whitman.

Yes. I mumbled.

Who else was in the boat? No answer. Again, the question. Finally, My husband.

After a while I heard the soft voice, Mrs. Whitman, I’m sorry if we’re hurting you, but we have to keep pulling. I wasn’t hurting… yet. Later… .We may have to take you out without your foot. I didn’t mind. I told her to do whatever she had to. It didn’t seem important.

Seconds or hours later I felt many hands on me. I yelped. MY ARM!

1

It’s been many years. It’s unbelievable that this happened so long ago.

The calendar tells of time passing, but in my heart this all happened yesterday. I continue to live with it, but will not have that poor me feeling. My eyes do fill with tears when I’m alone and I think about that August night. Recently, I found another sliver in my scalp. Not unlike a mini volcano, my scalp occasionally spews out small pieces of glass and then closes up. I scratched it gingerly, and out came a rather large shard. Long after the accident, I’m still shedding glass!

* * *

The accident occurred on Lake George, a jewel in the crown of the Adirondack Mountains in upstate New York.

The night before, Saturday night, we were standing on the deck of our vacation home quietly watching the beauty of the setting sun over the mountains. My husband, Jules, had planned to buy me a 3 carat diamond . As we spoke about this I suddenly said, I am never going to have that diamond.

Puzzled, he asked, Why not?

I don’t know why, I answered, "I just know it’s not going to happen."

2

Our first venture to the North Country was shortly after Jules Whitman and I were married. We chose that area on the recommendation of my parents who had visited a nearby town. We began our Lake George life in a charming small motel called Sunnyshores,in Bolton Landing, New York. We didn’t have a car, went north by bus, and stayed in what was called the slave quarters; an unbroken line of cabins with one shared bathroom in the center. The rate for these luxurious accommodations was six dollars and fifty cents a night, or six dollars nightly for the week. Since our finances were limited, we cooked on grills at the public campgrounds many evenings.

We sat in the main lodge after dinner, where Jules played poker with the big guys and I prayed that we’d have enough gas money left to get home. There we met people who were to be our good friends for many years.

That summer we fell in love with The Lake. I discovered a profound peace there. This was important as there was little peace in our marriage. Nonetheless, the following summer we returned with an eight week old baby, our first child, Claire.

Much to everyone’s chagrin, the motel was sold, not once but twice. The second time, as a research facility for Rensselaer Polytechnic Institute. This left several refugees wandering around The Lake searching for a second home, as few of us were ready to give up our summer weekends in the north country, or our camaraderie.

We eventually bought a condominium on The Lake where we had made many friends. We had a good life there, at the Cannon Point Condominium. We were in our boat whenever the weather permitted; we sailed with friends, tied up to larger boats in a small bay with Barbara and Jason Baker, picnicked on many of the small islands on The Lake, had Fourth of July and Labor Day picnics/parties with our special friends, Marge and Don Sorensen, and Ruth and Al Knipe. Thanksgiving and New Year’s were beautiful up in the north country.

Many days during the week between Christmas and New Year’s, we spent with our neighbors, the Fourth of July and Labor Day picnics, playing bridge before the fire, watching the snow fall.. BJ Roemer usually had a pot of potato-leek soup on the stove, and an open bottle of wine near the bridge table. All of our children would head for the steaming soup pot after returning from the ski slopes. Our children, especially our youngest, Lloyd, were with us much of the time.

We celebrated many holidays with our friends’ families in each other’s homes. It snowed the first Thanksgiving that we all spent together. I remember how excited we were. Lloyd was in his first semester at Brown University, as was our neighbor’s son. They had traveled from Ithaca, New York, to be with us.

We rushed to get our cross-country skis, and the members of all four families skied together down the long driveway. The fat, round snowflakes fell in our faces; we caught them on our tongues. We had fun.

* * *

I was sorry to leave Cannon Point. Jules wanted a private home and waterfront. We ultimately found a lovely house across The Lake on the east side. There were about two wooded acres with three hundred feet of waterfront. The interior was luxurious. We had a beautiful wood stove, a built in sauna, a hot tub for six and an escape hatch for our Two dogs that led out to an enclosure for them. This was IT! Jules was finally in his palace.

He had two truckloads of fine sand brought to the waterfront, thereby creating a small beach for the little ones. There was a small out-building nearby with storage for the boat gear and sand toys. Inside, we put a small frig and created a private area for a porta-potty, as not all the grandkids were fully house trained. Jules was a great believer in creature comforts.

Every summer afternoon about five-thirty I would lie in the hammock at the lake’s edge with my book, music, and cocktail. Rarely would I listen to my music or read my book, preferring to hear the frog-sounds and bird-trills while watching the ever moving waters. I would have been content to spend all of my summer evenings curled up in that hammock. We were together, in that house, for nine short months.

3

Sunday, August 14, 1988, started out as a lovely day, with an excellent forecast. We were joyously planning a swim-picnic for our son, Lloyd, to take place the following weekend in celebration of the completion of his Doctorate in Physics at Cornell University. It was to be a catered party for approximately forty people.

That day we had been invited to picnic across the lake with the Knipes, Sorensens and another couple, the Rolands. Since the night before, I had had a BAD feeling. I attempted to convince Jules that we weren’t meant to be in the boat on that day. I suggested that we drive around the lake, instead of boating across. He disagreed vehemently declaring that it would take fifteen minutes to boat over but forty-five to drive. I tried to explain to him that we just weren’ t meant to be in the boat. I emphasized that I had a bad feeling.

I am fully aware that many people think that Extra Sensory Perception, (ESP), is nonsense, but it IS real. It’s akin to a sixth sense, a heightening of awareness. I believe that if I am given knowledge, I am meant to act upon it. ESP has been significant in my life. Perhaps it is genetic, as my father was precognitive. Many times I’ve had advance knowledge of things to come. There are theoretical physicists who seriously discuss this and other phenomena that are often looked upon as irrational or new age stuff, but when it’s always been part of your life it’s very real. People often deny the existence of angels and other unseen helpers in our lives, however, if we’ve had these experiences we can attest to the fact that they do exist. There are things all around us that we can’t see yet we know that they are as real as the wind. I believe that I’ve averted a few unpleasant happenings in the past, by knowing about them. Some people are gifted at accessing the unseen.

Perhaps I could have refused to go with Jules. He probably wouldn’t have gone without me. Those who knew him understood what a strong, bulldozer of a personality he had. We had argued often. (At least one couple declined to go out with us as our disputes were so frequent.) The remark had been made that I had to live with him, but they didn’t.

He finally wore down my resolve; I agreed to accompany him in the boat, despite prescient misgivings. We arrived without incident, but I remained quite anxious. We picnicked on the grounds of Cannon Point as we had often done. Somewhere about five or six o’clock a storm, unpredicted by the Vermont weather station, blew up, bringing with it thunder, lightning, and heavy rain. I hurried to the shelter of the Roland’s condo while Jules ran to the dock to cover the boat before joining us. We sat and talked, eating and drinking for about two hours. When the storm passed, the sky cleared, and stars were visible overhead. Jules then uncovered the boat. His shirt was rain-soaked and he borrowed Frank Roland’s. When he returned I told him again that I had bad vibes about being in the boat, and our friends had offered to drive us home. However, Jules was emphatic about returning by boat, with me or without me. I didn’t want to be in that boat, but I was