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The phone rings.
"Jill, this is Mom. Grandma's body is beginning
to shut down. She is not taking any fluid or nourishment
anymore. She is not waking up. Just wanted to let
you know. The nurse says that this often happens
before people die."
I am not surprised. "Is she in any pain?"
I ask.
"Oh, no. They are making sure of that."
A small discussion ensues. My mom doesn't want
any of the grandkids to bother or get upset. She
will take care of all the arrangements and let us
all know when Grandma dies.
I tell her that I will come into town and say good-by
to Grandma. Yes, that feels good. My mom asks "Why?
Grandma won't even know that you are there…."
I don't argue and check my calendar to make arrangements
to visit with Grandma one last time.
I feel sad and relieved. Grandma has been in the
nursing home for ten years and I have watched my
family go through many stages of letting go. Sometimes
this has been difficult.
About five years earlier, I came to visit Grandma
at the nursing home. She could participate in conversations
at that time and we began to talk. She told me that
she had been seeing her husband, who had passed
away several years earlier, and he seemed to be
waiting for her. She wasn't sure whether this was
a dream and seemed upset. When we began to talk
about her dreams, she became more and more agitated.
She told me that she was afraid to sleep because
she had been having many nightmares of men chasing
her.
Suddenly, her face twisted into a frown and she
shouted…"Who is going to help me? It's
so dark."
"What is so dark Grandma?" I asked.
"The tunnel…" she replied. "The
tunnel is so dark." she screamed.
Immediately, I knew what she was talking about
and grabbed her hand. She needed someone to show
her the way. "Jesus is there, Grandma,"
I said with some urgency. "Jesus is there and
he can help you. He can take your hand." I
kept repeating this to her until she began to calm
down. Eventually, her panic subsided and she reached
for her tea.
While she sipped her tea, I tried to calm myself
down. It was hard seeing Grandma in distress and
I often had wondered, over the years, whether there
was anything else I could do to help make things
easier for her. I knew from my spiritual work with
individuals who were dying that many of them see
a tunnel as they are getting ready to pass over.
Sometimes you can help them make this journey though
the tunnel to the other side. But Grandma wasn't
ready for this yet. She had her own timetable.
And now, five years later, it is Grandma's time
to go and I start packing a few things that I will
need on my trip to the nursing home. As I reach
for a small decanter of oil, I suddenly realize
that there had been a mistake. The oil, which I
had received yesterday, was not the Lily of the
Valley oil that I had ordered. Instead, the company
accidentally sent me myrrh, an anointing oil, which
is used on a body after death. I open the decanter
of myrrh oil and the smell is spicy and sweet.
What timing. This is no mistake. I know instantly
that I will be using the myrrh oil in some way to
help my grandmother pass over. But how? I am uncertain.
I have helped other clients prepare for death before,
but I have never used anointing oil in this process.
And I have never performed this function for a beloved
family member before. I am a little nervous.
When I arrive at the nursing home, I am stunned
to see my grandmother's body. She is lying on her
back, in bed, with her ducky pajamas on. Her hair
is messed up and she looks so small, so frail and
shrunken. It's almost as if she is melting into
the bed. Clearly, much of her consciousness has
already separated from her body.
But there is still a part of her here and alive.
I can feel her presence. A child's presence. I look
at my grandmother and see a small energetic cord
coming out from the back of her heart. It drifts
into a corner of the room above her bed. At the
end of the cord is a young, ten-year-old girl who
looks down at me. I silently acknowledge her presence
and know right away that this is my grandmother
as a child in England. I cannot see her clearly
and close my eyes to connect with her more fully.
I feel a very loving and open presence, full of
wonder. She feels like she is waiting.
I sit down next to Grandma and reach out to straighten
her hair. Her face looks so vacant and yet her skin
is warm. I feel sad and amazed. Ninety-nine years
old. What a long time to live. She always said that
she didn't want to live to be a hundred and it looks
like she would get her wish.
I close my eyes and begin to meditate. What do
you want me to do Grandma? I ask. After a short
time, I see myself putting some myrrh oil on the
front and back of her heart. This feels like a clear
answer and I am relieved. I open my eyes but as
I reach for the decanter of myrrh oil, I feel my
body becoming tense. I begin to tremble as I open
the decanter of myrrh. The Angel of Death is here.
I have met and have worked with the Angel of Death
before…and he, for the lack of a better term…is
so exquisitely gentle and kind. And yet, even though
I have had such wonderful experiences with this
Angel, my body still goes through agitation and
fear when I first become aware of his presence.
I start to cry. What if Grandma dies when I touch
her with the myrrh oil? What if members of my family
think that I have killed her? I grab a tissue. I
continue to let these fears rise up and wash over
me. I know from past experience not to argue with
my fear of death and to just let it be. Eventually,
my mind and body calms down. I grab another tissue
and then continue.
I put a small portion of the oil on the front and
back of Grandma's heart. The smell of the oil is
very strong and I think she can smell it. I dab
a little of it along the edge of her bed and pray
that my actions will provide whatever help Grandma
needs at this moment. And what will happen now,
I wonder, as I sit back into my chair to observe.
It is so beautiful. Almost immediately, the oil
becomes an effervescent cloud, sparkling like white
Christmas tree lights. The lights rise into the
air and swirl into a dark tunnel, shining light
into the darkness. As I watch, I am filled with
wonder. I look into the tunnel, and soon the top
of the tunnel has beautiful glowing lights all along
its ceiling. The way for my Grandmother to pass
over into another world is no longer dark and scary.
My attention is then drawn to the little English
girl who is that part of Grandma still clinging
onto life. What does she need right now? I begin
to smell fried fish and chips and hear the sound
of the ocean. The little girl is pleased. The Angel
of Death and I begin to fill the tunnel with smells
and sounds that the little girl loves. Different
images of the sea, the English
countryside and many people of all ages appear on
the walls of the tunnel. I smile. The tunnel
is beginning to look like one of the rides at Disney
World in which people are surrounded by moving pictures
and sounds. A 360 degree theater. How delightful.
My senses are then flooded with the feelings of
this young girl. She is gracefully running through
English fields of heather in a light colored dress.
The wind is blowing her hair. She delights in the
smell of the North Sea and the sound of the sea
gulls. Grandma twirls in the sunlight. What joy.
What a treasure to experience my grandmother in
this way. She is so free and happy.
I am also surprised. The grandmother I knew most
of my life didn't feel this way to me. Her life
had been difficult at times. When I was younger,
I really didn't get to know her very well because
she seemed bitter and grumpy. She was often arguing
with Grandpa and I don't ever remember her playing
with me.
Grandma is certainly having fun now, however. As
I watch this ten-year old girl above my grandmother’s
bed, I begin to experience Grandma as the free and
adventuresome spirit she really is. She takes risks
as she leaps and twirls. As an adult, she will take
delight in creating a new life in a new land, America.
And she has a gift for me. My grandmother looks
at me through these ten-year-old eyes and smiles.
She is free and I can be free, too. "Don't
spend all the time I did carrying around this pain,
" she says softly and tears come to my eyes.
This is so beautiful.
Then it is over. Some nurses come in to check in
on my grandmother and my attention is diverted.
As the nurses bustle about, I turn inward to many
memories of Grandma: the difficulties my grandmother
had creating a new life in the States as an immigrant;
her great artistic talent that was not expressed;
the physical pain she endured; the tragedies she
experienced. Her rocky relationship with Grandpa
fills me with sadness.
And yet, here is my grandmother now, free of all
these burdens, free of all the resentments she harbored
and clung to in her adult life. This young girl
is so full of joy.
My thoughts then turn to my own life and I realize
that I have similar themes in my life. I, too, carry
much resentment in my life. I am not an immigrant
like Grandma, but I know all about the costs of
creating a new life. I have taken risks and things
haven't always worked out the way I had planned.
There has been physical pain, injuries and tragedies.
I have artistic talent that I simply do not take
the time to express. I have been in rocky relationships
and my kids don't think I have been much fun lately.
Oh, but what a gift my grandmother is giving me
now. Here she is--in the process of dying--and she
is the one helping me to unburden myself. As I feel
her freedom and joy, I remember that it exists.
As I remember, my own pains and disappointments
begin to fade. I feel the possibility of change.
My grandmother died four days later. At her funeral,
our family celebrated her life and reflected on
how she and her descendents created new life in
this country. We looked at my grandmother's English
passport, pictures of Ellis Island and some of the
letters sent back and forth to England over the
years. We reminisced about her accent, her funny
sayings, her home in Illinois and the many tea times
we had shared. It was a joyous occasion. Death has
a funny way of bringing people together.
Thank you Grandma for the risks you took, for your
life and for including me in on your transition.
I am grateful that I experienced, and continue to
experience, the joy and freedom that you felt. Remembering
that joy helps me forgive and let go of pain and
resentment. Remembering that freedom helps me make
choices that are bringing greater joy into my own
life. Your death started a transition in me and
is helping to create a new life. Mine.
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