Present Tense

Lessons….

eagleYesterday, I was talking to a friend, who also happens to be an energy worker/healer, about the events of the past week, involving the death of Ember. She asked me to tell her what I had learned and what I thought it means going forward. Here is what I told her:

The day Ember was hit, I heard the delivery truck coming up the driveway and I had a flash of what was about to happen. I KNEW. As I ran toward the driveway, I knew what was happening and although all that I saw was a flash of white, as I got closer, I knew exactly where to look in the driveway.

I saw her and ran to her and I kneeled over her and knew she was gone. There wasn’t a mark on her. No blood, no contusions, nothing bent or broken. It was as if she were sleeping on the bed. But, she was gone.

After we let Junior sniff and nudge her, I wrapped her up and sat in a chair, holding her for about an hour. I stroked her, talked to her, kissed her and Junior sat with us. It was the most peaceful, serene, mystical experience. I was calm and loving and felt as if I were absorbing her into me; as if our spirits or souls melded together.

I know this sounds weird or airy-fairy to many of you, but it felt so perfect and necessary. Saying goodbye. Acknowledging that death is merely the end to our physical bodies and not the end of our essence.

I felt as if she was giving me a gift. Like most of us, I feared death for many years. I was terrified of losing my parents. I made my husband take our pets in to be euthanized because I couldn’t face it. It was better to just not think about it.

I was there when we put our dog Chili to rest and I was glad I was there for her, but this time, it was much more intimate and comforting. It healed me. I felt, smelled, tasted and embraced death in a way that I had never imagined. I had been feeling death in the air and I assumed it was my mom. So, maybe this was practice. A way to be there for her as she transitions.

We push away death in our culture. We deny it and fear it and sterilize it. This taught me to embrace it and know that death isn’t horrible. It isn’t the end. It’s a change of address.

Ember is now unbound by physical constraints. I ache for the loss I feel in my life, by not having her physically here with me. But, I know that my mom will be okay and that I can encourage her to face her fears. I can tell her that she can let go and join my dad and her parents and sister. Those of us still on earth will be fine and we’ll join her one day.  There is nothing to fear.

 

May 27, 2016 - Posted by | Musings | , , , , ,

3 Comments »

  1. This is so profound, Jane. Thanks for sharing it with us. Might I presume to add an experience: When my mom was in hospice they told us that she might choose to depart when none of us were around. That is exactly what happened when we were eating supper in a room nearby. The hospice worker said that a departing loved one tends to feel bound to us and hangs on for us. We also want to relate to our departing loved ones that we have faced our fears and are ready to let them go whenever they are ready.

    Comment by Glenda | May 27, 2016 | Reply

  2. This is lovely.

    Comment by Katie Cardenas | May 27, 2016 | Reply

  3. My dad and I just identified the place that my mom will spend her last days, with loving care in a home where others are struggling with the same awful disease that she had. I want to release her, but more importantly release my dad who is doing well and has things that he can still do and enjoy. I appreciate your words and experience. I will try my damndest to be there in the end. Thanks Friend.

    Comment by Tim Lankerd | May 27, 2016 | Reply


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