There is a particular moment in time when each of us realizes that we are mortal and will die. We might not be able to articulate it, or even remember it later when we have the words to describe it, but it’s there. I don’t remember the moment, but there have been multiple times when my mortality has danced before my eyes like a barely visible water spout over a lake of time. It’s there and it’s moving, but it isn’t quite tangible for me.
I’ve been in violent car crashes. I’ve nearly died in childbirth. I’ve had more near misses than I can count. Still, I never really thought I would die. I’ve thought about it, even considered doing it to myself, but hadn’t truly considered the actual moment that I will die – until recently.
I took what one of my friends calls a “horizontal life pause”, aka a nap. Sometime during the pause, my youngest child climbed into bed with me. I was not completely aware and was drifting back to sleep. In that haze between wakefulness and dreaming, she took my hand. Her sweet little whisper lifted from her and entered the haze… I love you…
In that instant, we were transported. I opened my eyes and saw the hospital room. There was a single monitor behind me, beeping softly. A window to one side showed a pleasant scene with blooming flowers and beams of sunlight. Motes of dust sparkled in the beams, making the light dance and swirl. My eyes dropped to my hands. They were not the smooth, youthful skin I was expecting. They were spotted and marked with age. They were thin and frail, my great-grandmother’s hands as she gestured, telling us a story from her days of teaching school. They were hands that had braided hair and cooked feasts and applied bandaids and changed diapers.
A young hand took mine. I followed the smooth hand to the arm and up to the face. It was a familiar face. I knew that face. She smiled. I love you, Mom… Her adult voice was still a whisper. I smiled. I felt the stretched skin and the strain to hold up my head. She touched my face and I closed my eyes again. Years of memories flitted through my mind, filling my spirit for its journey. It would not take long, but I would be buoyed by those memories and a lifetime more.
There was no fear. There was only joy. There was beauty that my little one – though not so little any more – was with me. She let go with peace and joy, sending me off with all the love in her heart. I let her go with peace and joy, lifting from her with all the love in my heart. I left the love there for her to keep. There was lots more where I was going.
I blinked. Tears of love were streaming down my face into my hair. Her little fingers brushed my cheek and her sweet little breath released in a contented sigh. She was six again and I was was laying in my bed at home, utterly taken with the vision. I understood then. I had been given an amazing gift. I saw a glimpse of what would come to pass.
My sweet little one will be with me when I die. She will be by my side as she was that day, bringing love and joy and peace. I will be at peace, and so will she. I understood that death will not be something to fear when it’s time. It will be beautiful and filled to completeness with the kind of love that lasts forever.