Reflection on My Second Chance at Life — 40 Years After My NDE September 6, 1985 by John Hanrahan, Author of Wrestling with Angels

Forty years ago, in the early morning hours of September 6, 1985, I was clinically dead from a lethal drug injection. Miraculously, I was revived—pulled back from the brink—and given a second chance at life. Since that moment, I’ve felt a deep responsibility to share the miracle I witnessed: the crossing over in death, the truths revealed to me, and the extraordinary journey back.

But it wasn’t until much later—after my own son experienced a near-death event during the opioid crisis—that I found the courage to tell the full story.

For years, I kept it buried. When my son began fighting his own battle with addiction, I knew I had to tell everything.

What is it like to die? I can’t explain that without first being honest about what it was like to live—because in death, you are shown your entire life in an instant. To tell this story, I had to open up to my sons, my friends, my clients, and the world. I had to reveal that I was an addict—someone who lost control and died because of it.

In doing so, I also had to confront the shame of how far I had fallen. I had once been an NCAA All-American wrestler and Olympic team contender. In my mid-twenties, I was suddenly working as an international model, represented by Ford Models. My face appeared in designer ads and on magazine covers in New York, Paris, Milan, Zurich, and Tokyo. But while my career ascended, my addiction deepened—until it consumed me completely.

When my memoir Wrestling with Angels was released in 2020, I felt both anticipation and fear. Sharing something so personal after decades of silence made me vulnerable. But when Dr. Steven Jaffe, a respected recovery expert, described the book as “extremely relevant” in the midst of the opioid epidemic, I felt validated. The story was no longer just mine—it had become part of a much larger conversation.

Dr. Jaffe wrote:

“I was inspired by John’s vivid description of his own death from a drug overdose, followed by his receiving the gift of returning to life. This is a highly entertaining read, and in this time of an opioid epidemic, it is extremely relevant.”

His words reassured me that my experience might serve a greater purpose.

As a wrestler at Penn State, I had been part of one of the nation’s most elite programs—a brotherhood that has always stayed with me. I shared Wrestling with Angels with Dr. Charles Prebish, Professor Emeritus of Religious Studies and one of the university’s most beloved teachers. Dr. Prebish understood the sacredness of sport—especially wrestling. He once told our class how he insisted on leaving the hospital after surgery to attend a dual meet at Rec Hall, bringing a cushion to rest his post-op body semi-comfortably in the bleachers.

When I faltered during my final dual meet there, I carried that failure like a wound. I feared I had let everyone down. But I knew if I were to tell the full truth of my journey to the light, I couldn’t just share the radiant crossing—I had to reveal the struggle that came before it.

Dr. Prebish’s response touched me deeply:

“A magnificent read. John’s unabashed prose strikes right to one’s heart and inspires great compassion. I simply cannot remember the last time I cried as I read the concluding chapter of a book. This is one utterly tremendous story!”

For me, his words felt like a form of forgiveness—from a community I thought I had failed.

In my senior year, I had been in contention for a national title and was once ranked second in the country behind the legendary Olympic champion Dave Schultz. But addiction had its grip on me, and I finished far below expectations.

Wrestling, like the martial arts, holds a sacred space in the hearts of those who practice it. Known as the oldest sport, it is also the most ancient martial art. Years later, at age 36, I entered the Olympic Trials again—not to chase glory, but to atone for the past. I pushed my body through grueling punishment to reclaim a piece of myself. Though I didn’t win the Olympic spot, I defeated younger champions and earned renewed respect as an Olympic Trials place winner.

But it wasn’t until I nearly lost my son to heroin that I began to share my story more publicly—how I, too, had been taken from my family by drugs. I told him that when I crossed over in death, I stood before the light and was shown the prayers of those who loved me. I saw their grief. Their hope. Their desperate faith.

Those prayers were answered.

Part of my mission in coming back is to tell families this: Your prayers are not unseen. They are not in vain. They are light. And I know because I was held in that light.

For decades, I’ve served as a trainer and wellness coach to some of the most well-known figures in Hollywood and beyond. I was featured in GQ as “the guy to know for fitness,” and named LA’s top personal trainer by Allure magazine.

Throughout those years, I’ve done my best to reflect the light I was shown—to inspire, to motivate, and to lay healing hands on the people entrusted to me. Yet until now, I had never publicly shared the full truth of my near-death experience.

The first person I gave the manuscript to was my former client, Laura Morton, a 20-time New York Times bestselling author. Laura encouraged me to complete the story and share it with the world. She wrote:

“The book tugs at your heartstrings, touching on difficult issues so many families are dealing with every day. John expresses his experiences beautifully, allowing himself to be raw, real, and full of grace.”

A Hollywood producer optioned the book for a film—but I ultimately rejected four screenplay drafts and chose not to renew the option. It meant walking away from potential income, but I had made a vow: the essence of this story must remain intact.

That vow was part of my second chance.

I am forever grateful to the many angels who helped me along the way—the ones in this world and beyond it. Their love, presence, and guidance gave me the courage to write this, and the strength to live it.

If this story finds you in the midst of struggle, I hope it shines a little light. If you are someone who has prayed for a loved one in pain, I hope it reminds you: those prayers are heard.

There is life beyond this one, and there is always the chance to begin again.