Posts Tagged ‘Death’

When I first saw her, she was carrying around her limp body in confusion.  I stopped her, asked her to put down her body and have a seat.  She obediently slumped into a chair, tired and exhausted.  After a moment she looked up, “Who are you?”

I tried to explain, “Dr. Benton (name changed to protect his privacy) asked me to help you.  You’ve had a stroke… a couple of weeks ago.”

“I did?”  Her face was showing more clarity, as if just having someone there to talk to was helping her reorient.

“Yes.  You have to make a decision, though.  You can die, which is what your body wants to do or you can hang on for as long as you want.  The decision is yours.  It’s very difficult on your body, however, to just hang on.”

“How do you know this?  Why are you the only one here?”

“I don’t know exactly how I know or why I’m the only one here.  Somehow I know how to find people like you and Dr. Benton asked me if I would help you because he cares about you.  No one feels like they can reach you because your body is laying in the hospital in a coma-state.”  As I observed her, she reminded me of my mother, very practical, intelligent; capable and ready to make decisions when the options are laid out.

“Is there something you need to take care of before you go?”

She thought for a moment, wanting to answer correctly and contemplatively.  “No, everything is okay.”  I could tell her circumstances were starting to sink in and she was accepting the reality of what had happened to her.

I sensed a large community of people on the “other side” who knew her, supported her and were waiting for her.  A man (assumed to be her husband), a dog and a baby who seemed to be one she probably lost when the baby was an infant were the most prominent of the spirits I saw gathered.

“What do I do now?”

“If you decide to die, you have to get back into your body.  It’s not going to feel good.  This part of you that I am talking to now is free.  This is how you will feel when you cross over but when you go back into your body it will feel like you are going into a box.  It will not be comfortable.  But, you can control how quickly you die to reduce the time you are uncomfortable.”  I showed her how she could pull her energy up, from her feet to her head, as fast as she wanted.  I reminded her that everything was totally up to her.

She said she was ready.  I asked if there was anything else and she said that she wanted to give Dr. Benton some roses.  At first she said red and then changed her mind to yellow roses because she thought red was inappropriate for her to give to a married man; he might misconstrue her intentions.  Again, her properness and etiquette reminded me of my mother who is just about the same age, in her eighties.  Just the sort of person who, like my mother, if I were talking physically to her instead of communicating in this “in between world,” would be the first to deny that this kind of contact is possible.  I promised I would give the yellow roses to Dr. Benton.

The next morning, she died.  I delivered the flowers to Dr. Benton that afternoon.  “You know you’re weird, right?”  He smiled teasingly but was obviously touched by my gesture of following through with her wishes.

“I know.  What can I do?”

“Maybe I should send her roses for her funeral.  She asked me to be her pallbearer, you know.  Do you think she will even know if I send roses?”

“She might…some people hang around after they pass to see their funeral.  She doesn’t seem the type to me, though.”

He walked me out to my car, his eyes wondering and thoughtful, “Is this a loaner car?”

“Yeah, I’m getting shocks put on my car.  After about 300,000 miles, I guess it’s about time, huh?”

He shook his head in agreement.  “Hey, thanks a lot for helping her and for bringing me the roses.”


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Letting Go

Her summer becomes winter

Before her time

And she lies in the middle

Between too sick to move on

And too late to fix.

Rumors of God and spirit

Flood her psyche like

Sinewy spring swamp water

And she aches from the love

Squeezing out of her pores…

All that love for her 3 children

The youngest, not yet finished with her breasts,

Too content being the baby to start walking,

And the surgeon husband with helpless hands

Not knowing how to bring her back

From the brink.

Yellow-skinned now,

She moves like she’s in a TV show with bad reception

Between worlds,

Pulled by the sappy need of her family

And drawn like a hummingbird

To the sweet nectar of relief-“the other side.”

I stand here in the mid-world

Coaxing her to untangle the threads of grief and guilt

And a mother’s bone-deep self sacrifice.

I gently remind her, again, that it’s time,

Show her how to shed her skin of light.

She dutifully tugs on her light body

Like an old woman pulling her nightgown over her head

Getting dressed to go out.

She’s going home now.

I can see that her work is done.

Some “near-death ones” I help in this mysterious mid-world 

Don’t want to do the work,

But she’s finished all the necessities,

Every feeling tucked and tidy

And she hears the music now,

Eternity will not wait

For even a mother’s milk to dry.

If she must go

Then she must.

I bulwark her with the fierce love

Needed in this place

And she travels, sure and unfettered

And it is done

Be free, my love, be free

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