Where Do We Go When We Go?

December, 2011

As I sat holding his hand and listening to his breathing, time seemed to be in some sort of suspended state.

I thought of memories of our shared time together, pondered how life would be without my soul father here physically, and simply cherished the gift of witnessing and sharing this moment in time with him.  It was only the day before that I had arrived and sat with him when he was still coherent. He looked at me and said, “okay honey, I am going to sleep now…. have a beautiful life and always remember how much I love you.”  And, just like that he turned his back to me and went to sleep, never to speak again nor to wake up.

I was acutely aware, sitting there with him, that dying is not an easy process.  It is another type of "labor" to leave this world, just as we labor to come in. Just as there is the moment for us all to be born, there is also the perfect moment for us to die.  I bore witness to the fact that he was obviously done but it took days for his soul to be ready to move on. And it was the deepest honor to be tending to him these last couple of days of his life.

I sat next to him and anytime he roused, I simply told him that I loved him and it was okay to go.

All too soon, he was breathing his last few breaths and then he was gone.  Just like that, one moment breathing and the next moment, not.  Immediately, the birds started singing outside his open window revealing the autumn colored leaves on the trees.

I continued to hold his hand and thanked him for the gift of being with him at that moment and felt our connection solidify beyond any previous knowing.  I also felt his soul, spirit or whatever name we place upon our life force, slowly leave his physical body.  He turned cold and stiff almost instantly.  Fly with the birds my dear Hoity, regardless if “you” believed in an afterlife, I felt you leave as the birds sang outside of your window… where you went I do not know.  None of us know… until we know, and then we cannot share that with our loved ones that are still in these breathing bodies.  We can only hope for the quote that says, “the beautiful irony, is that our loss is another’s reunion”.  I sure hope so… for I want to see my sweet step father again!

I think about him often since returning home and remember those last moments, sometimes with tears but always with deep reverence.  I hear his breath, I hear his no breath.... and I don't look upon breath or life the same way anymore.

Breathing is life, life is love and it is all so deeply precious... each breath, each life, each moment.