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Elizabeth Schenk, photographed in Redwood Regional Park in Oakland, California, went for a short stroll and ended up getting lost for three days. Carolyn Fong Facebook Twitter LinkedIn

It was the week of the flower moon — the first full moon of May — and I had gone to a retreat center in Mendocino, California, to meditate, reflect and hold a private ceremony for my late

husband, Chip.

Shortly before the ceremony, I set out for a brief stroll. I didn’t even fill up my water bottle, because I wasn’t going to be gone long. But I took an unfamiliar trail, a small logging

road, and when I turned back, I couldn’t find the spot where I’d entered. I called the retreat manager for help, and he told me, “Just go through the yellow gate.” But as it turns out, there

was more than one yellow gate. Before long, I found myself lost in dense forest. No cell connection.

I headed uphill to find a clearing where I might be seen. Along the way, I found a muddy puddle and took a sip from that, but it made me feel sick. There were a few wild flowers, so I tried

to get moisture from them. Once the sun set, I fell into a deep sleep on redwood chips.

I woke as the sun was rising, and that was the first time I thought, I’m in real trouble. I knew the search-and-rescue teams must be looking for me, but I couldn’t hear any sign of them. I’d

dropped my phone along the way, so I couldn’t be located that way.

I was never hungry. Hunger doesn’t enter into it when you’re dying of thirst. And I knew I had to find clean water or I would die.

To locate a stream, I climbed down a ravine, bumping on my bottom and then sliding, making a game of it. My water bottle had slipped down into a ravine while I slept, so when I finally came

across a stream, I had to cup my hands to drink. When I’d had enough, I started climbing again. Years of doing yoga gave me the strength to keep moving, keep scrambling.

By the end of the second day, I could feel my body breaking down. I’d been tripping, taking some hard falls. I sat down, but I was afraid to sleep. I have a nocturnal seizure disorder, and

of course I didn’t have my medication with me.

I watched the rise of the full moon and spent the entire night in prayerful meditation. I felt gratitude for this one tiny, brief experience of homelessness, and I prayed for all of the

people who were experiencing that. I also prayed, “Thank God this is happening to me. Thank God this isn’t happening to some child.”

The morning of the third day, I started shedding clothes, to leave a trail of clues. Then I lay down in the shade. I was utterly exhausted.

By that day, there were 73 search-and-rescue volunteers looking for me, as well as seven scent dogs. The dogs did find some of my clothes, and then a drone located me. It was several more

hours before the rescuers could cut through the brush and reach me. They were surprised to find me alive.

With death, sometimes it’s just your time. I didn’t feel it was my time yet. We are so much more powerful than we realize, no matter what state our body may be in. Our hearts are what lead

us.

Elizabeth Schenk, 71, is a retired mental health educator and therapist in Oakland, California.

Robin Westen, author of more than a dozen books, is an award-winning writer and frequent contributor to AARP’s publications.

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