Dad ~ One Year Ago...

Today marks the one year anniversary of my dear ol' Dad's exit from his body. I have the candles lit on the little altar I created for him on our piano.  There is quite the collection there under his pictures...stones that I laid on his chest while he was in hospital, crystals that he owned and I collected after his death, a little felt heart filled with lavender that Maureen sent, and of course, a small tea tin of his ashes that have been traveling around for the past year... which will return to his grave in the Spring.

This past year has been a whirlwind of emotion and change. It has not been easy for me. I have been learning the landscape of grief, and there have been some walks on slippery slopes, and I have stumbled many times upon this new terrain. Always getting back up...though much more humbled than before I fell. Like a rock in the ocean slowly being made smooth by crashing waves...I have become transformed. And all of this without my dear Dad by my side, as he has always been in the past.... a phone call or a visit away, always supportive and so loving.

The last dream I had of him, I sensed he was noticing the energetic changes that have happened over this past year. His house is up for sale now, and there are strangers coming to view the place and poke around the property. The house has been emptied of anything personal, the memories all tucked away out of sight. His essence has left the building...though it will never fully leave the property that he created there. Pulls on my heartstrings when I look at pictures, and that is the way of it. Bittersweet memories, tucked into the past.... where they belong.

I am accepting of the changes ahead, and I know Dad wants me to move forward and live my life... feeling a deep connection to all that IS. He was so deeply spiritual...I bet he is having a blast in the Great Beyond, and that his spaceship is all he knew it would be. I hold him close to my heart as I remain behind... in my gravity-bound Earthbody. My dear body that has shown me over the past year how it can become so completely knackered by stress... so that I can learn how manage myself better and work more compassionately with my thoughts. A back spasm and adrenal fatigue can be great teachers! Patience... this is my new acquaintance... and I am learning.

Grief has been my dear friend though... and we have danced regularly. I make a point of touching into grief every night before bed, reading books and reflecting on the subject. It feels like a heart opening, right before sleep. It centers me. Because when I try to stuff it all and pretend that it's not happening and fight against the feelings... it all goes sideways. So, I cry... alot. And I have been painting, which has been such a release. My latest painting is a grief painting... blacks, whites, payne grey... it is so very expressive, and a little bit frightening looking! And yet, there is a ritual in it... after I am finished, I want to bury the painting... give it, my grief, back to the earth. Something will grow on top of it, and it will be beautiful.

So, it still feels like work to put one foot in front of the other, and I know I will get there. Two months from now I will be immersed in the one year anniversary of my Mom's death, and I will walk through that event as well. I will never know why everything happened as it did, so fast and so intense... my mind makes up reasons...and the truth is that I don't know why. All I know is that my love for Dad is DEEP...being witness to the depths of my own grief this past year. It is all so powerful. Blows my mind and brings me right into my heart... my capacity to LOVE. Wow.

Dad... I know you can hear me. I love you, so very much. I miss you, and I will see you in dreams. Sending you cosmic, white light hugs today, and every day. xoxoxo

Your daughter,

~Mamaleah

In the Ashes

It has not quite been a year since my Dad's death, and the end of November feels like it's just around the corner. It is Autumn... the leaves are beginning to turn. In a couple weeks it will be Thanksgiving...the same time last year when I jumped on a plane to sit bedside with my Dad...and go through the month and a half leading up to his death.

The grief is still sitting heavy for me. I feel as if I am wading through thick tar. Wanting to move forward, move on with my life, and also losing traction with every step. There is a heavy sense of resistance, towards starting anything new and even to life in general. I don't hide, and yet I don't venture enthusiastically out into the world. I have many fears that creep up and keep me feeling very small...even though I see through them.

My body is grieving in such a deep way that I have become almost paralyzed. There is a pain piercing through my lower spine and it is immobilizing at times. It has been there on and off for about a year and a half, and only in the last couple months has it reached an urgent climax. So, not only does my Spirit feel paralyzed, my body is also ironically mimicking this. I ask the Universe what I need to learn from this pain and the only answer I am getting is that I need to LET GO.

Let go of what? It seems that all has been ripped out from under me over the last year... what more could I possibly let go of except the idea that I have any kind of control over my life and what happens to me. Letting go of the fear is also another challenge. Fear of death, now that I have stared it twice in the face of my parents. Fear that a cancer is raging, right now in my own body and will take me out like it took them. This pain could be cancer. I could be dying right now. I am dying right now....we all are, so what's to fear?

I see through it, and I also don't see anything that is right before me. I want to move on, and I don't. I want to be at peace with my parents' deaths, and I don't. I want them back.

I want them back.

And they are here right now, and all I need to do is tell them I love them. And I miss them.

There is nothing to figure out about what to do next, or what might be ailing my body and Spirit. I can only be moving through the ashes of today. And they are still waist-deep.

I'm learning over and over again that grief takes great patience. It is truly a dance like no other.

Sending love out to all of you in this place,

~Mamaleah

A birthday note...

Dear Mom,

Happy birthday... today you would have been 68 years young... and I miss you.

For the first time in the 42 years of my own life, I won't be sending you a card and giving you a phone call. So I am writing this blog/letter instead to let you know how much I love you.

You have been on my mind and in my heart since we buried you on Valentine's day, and I wanted to let you know that I have come to the realization that you were my greatest teacher in this life. YOU. And it wasn't because you were wise beyond your years, or because you were spiritually intelligent and could teach me the ways of the world... no. It was through your disconnection that you taught me. Because of the way you lived your life, it directly affected how I chose to live my own... and I am grateful for it all. I am grateful that you fumbled and fought, that you constantly reached for love outside of yourself and lived in a constant state of co-dependence.

I see that all along you simply wanted to be loved, and love in return. It wasn't complicated all... and I made it so very trivial in my own thinking of who you were. In my own judgements against you. In my struggles to not become like you. I complicated our relationship, and I am asking your forgiveness, and also for my own forgiveness. I could never fully accept you for who you were until you were gone. And now I see it all... I see the gift in it...the shiny jewel of what you left me.

Thank-you. Thank-you for loving me even though I distanced myself from you. Thank-you for all that you gave me and for persistently reaching out to me. We had some pretty sweet moments near the end of your life, and I admire how you were able to surrender, despite your great disappointment about leaving this world. You had a tiny taste of freedom... I felt it. And as I held your familiar hands and rubbed your forehead, smoothing back your white hair...I felt that freedom too. Freedom to love you just as the dear Soul that you were/are, without judgement. Recognizing you as the woman who had given me life... THIS life, with it's winding path of self-discovery through all the pains and traumas.

It must have been difficult for you, your death happening so quickly, and right on the heals of Dad's death. You were suffering alone while all your children were completely focused on Dad, and after his death we were all so wrapped in grief and exhaustion, that holding you in your death felt inconceivable. And we held you, my brothers and I, in our brokenness... we held you. I wake in the dark of night and wish I could have held you better... or done more for you. I know that I need to go gentle with this one because I did the best I could under the circumstances. There was so much to process, and my heart was exploding with grief.

That last morning I had with you will stay with me forever...a tender imprint on my heart. I was so grateful to have a small window of time alone with you, to soothe you and be close. That is the love I am holding for you now... and will hold for the rest of my life. Tender forgiveness and acceptance.

I have my path cut out for me... through this grief, and also in reshaping my life. Because of you, I have chosen to love myself and go from there... not reaching for people/things/substances to try to find that feeling, but finding it within. What a sweet, humble gift...one I would have never found without you.

I love you Mom.

~Your daughter, Leah

Eulogy to my Dear ol' Dad

My Dad’s life, to me, was everything worth living. He was a very handsome and gentle man, with a strong love for his family, his work, and for the Earth. He had his share of troubles in his lifetime, there is no doubt about that… and yet he chose love and forgiveness over everything else, and left this planet with an enthusiasm that is rare and beautiful. This man that I lovingly called my dear ol’ Dad, was my hero, my mentor, and a shining example of how I wish my own life to BE.

The experience of being the only girl in the family gifted Dad and I with an exceptionally strong bond. There was no jealousy to be experienced on my part. My older brother Neal and I had a very easy-going relationship and our early years in Sherwood Park with both Mom and Dad are filled with happy memories. Dad had the house made for us there and bought it all out-right. He had been very successful in his job with Terra Mines, and we were living the good life. We went on family trips, which were always an important aspect of family life for Dad, and we had many friends and family close-by, who we visited regularly. The only hard part was that Dad had to go away on frequent trips to the mines out in the NWT, and sometimes his trips would stretch into 6-8 weeks at a time. When we were young, we seemed oblivious to time and life would just go on. To my Mom, however, those long stretches with Dad away were some of the loneliest times of her life and over time, it wore on her. I do remember sitting on the edge of Dad’s bed while he packed his bags… tears in my eyes as I asked if he could stay. He had to go… it was his work. After many weeks away, he would return, his luggage filled with interesting specimens from the mines and also our favorite: rock candy! I couldn’t believe that those candies looked just like rocks! And I would savour them and look forward to his returns all the more. And of course, because his returns meant that he was back in our lives, and that was just wonderful.

Dad’s work meant a lot to him, we all knew that, and he was good at it. He got a taste for the value of silver and gold, and did his fair share of wheeling and dealing and in his big-hearted way, helped out some of his co-workers with their money problems. It back-fired on him a couple times, and his life became a bit of a gambling act… and he would manage to come out the other side unscathed and able to continue taking care of his family, which was very important to him. He provided for us in a way that we had everything we wanted or needed, and yet modestly so. We were never under the illusion that we were ‘rich’.  Mom, however, presented a big challenge for Dad with regards to her shopping and collecting of things. It was over-the-top, and eventually led to the demise of their marriage, combined with the emotional strain of mis-communications and Dad being away for such long stretches.

The big move out to Ferintosh: The House That Dad Built, was like a crack at a brand new existence for us as a family. I see now that what Dad built was an ‘Earth Ship’, and I feel proud that he had the environmental sensitivity to build such a house. Back then, it was just really ‘neat’. We had loads of fun, and three new baby brothers to play with over time! Again, Dad was away for work a lot, and when he was home, I was all over him. One of my favorite times with him was gardening. He had an incredible green thumb, and I would watch him very closely. I would also ask to help out, standing beside him in my rubber boots and knobby knees. He said ‘the best help you can do is to watch’…. And so I watched…and watched. He liked to be efficient in his tasks and get them done. And at the end of the day, after a yummy garden meal and Mom’s home-made lasagna, he would lounge on the couch and watch the evening news, followed by a show called MASH. I would crawl in beside him and rest my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat and feel like life was perfect. Those were my second favorite times… cuddles with Dad on the couch. It didn’t matter if I was 13… I wouldn’t trade those times for anything.  My third favorite time with Dad, were our family trips to Mexico. He would take us out of school for the month of February, and we would go on this epic adventure to a house in a remote village for a few years in a row, and then along the coast of Mexico in the Airstream. Those trips opened our eyes to the bigger world outside of our own, and brought a sense of culture into our lives. We made new friends, ate mexican hotdogs, in the later years ~ drank lots of Cerveza, danced at local gatherings, swam, sunbathed, and on the long drive home, we would hit up every single Macdonald’s joint across the US! Dad just loved these trips with us, and I am so grateful for his enthusiasm to have taken us every year.

It was in the late 80’s / early 90’s that Dad started to delve into himself a little more deeply and began to get in touch with his spirituality. I remember lots of new books showing up at the house about dream interpretation and palmistry. He began recording his dreams and we would talk about our own dreams with him frequently. It became a normal occurrence, especially during trips and car rides. I really enjoyed my deep conversations with Dad and he opened my eyes to the concept that we were all living for something bigger than ourselves… that there was something more to our existence and the Universe. Him meeting Maureen was no coincidence, because they could share this viewpoint in partnership with eachother.  I don’t believe there are mistakes in the Universe, and so what Mom and Dad shared was also valuable and necessary for them both. However, what Dad and Maureen shared was magical and sweet, and I am so happy they found one another and had the time that they had.

In the more adult years of my life, and especially over the last few years with Dad, I definitely viewed him as a mentor. His dream experiences intensified greatly over the years, as well as his day-to-day life experiences, and his stories and sharing were profoundly spiritual. I was in complete awe and we would talk for hours on the subject. He had a large impact on my own spiritual life and sense of connection with the world and the Universe, and I am just so grateful to have had a Dad who was so in touch with himself. Not everyone could understand where he was coming from, and some could see him as completely ‘out of touch’ with reality, and I beg to differ. What he was tapping into was pure Love, and he shared that with everyone he came in contact with, up until the moment of his death.

Sitting with him during those last two months of his life were very endearing for me. You would think that we would be going over all the business of his estate, money, house, etc… and we did a bit of that. However, the bulk of our conversations were about our dreams, his sharing about his past experiences… far and wide, and the Great Beyond. He had MANY stories to tell, and it was obvious that he was unwinding his life.  And so, I was a daily faithful witness, and devoted daughter and caregiver to him those last days. There was one night, the last night before he died, that was especially rough for him and he was awake every couple hours asking for assistance. Ryan, Nathyn and I were there at the hospital with him throughout the night. At one point, around 3am, he awoke and asked that I adjust him. I was feeling a bit of dread because it was becoming clear that he would be leaving his body soon, and I gently told him not to worry, that it was going to be ok. He replied, very clearly and with surprising force behind his voice “I am NOT worried”. He set me straight. I was the one who was worried, not him.

And that was the way of it for Dad. He didn’t ever resign to fear, and looked ever forward to his time here being finished so that he could be free from his body, Soul flying high so he could find his spaceship and get on with it! He knew that there was a place waiting for him at the big table with his White Light Brothers, and he was raring to go.

To all of us who loved him, who are still here… of course we miss his smile, his laugh, his gentle heart and his beaming LOVE… and yet, to know that his adventurous Spirit is now free, warms my heart to no end. I know he is with us all… in Spirit…and will be for eternity.  I love you Dad.

OUT BEYOND

Out beyond all right and wrong,

there is a field ~

I'll meet you there.


I'll meet you there,

we'll dance all night,

I'll meet you there beyond all wrong and right ~


Out beyond all right and wrong,

there is a field ~

I'll meet you there.


- Rumi poem adapted by Brian Hoover

It Takes a Village

Been feeling an intense amount of collective grief over the past couple days... after the devastating earthquakes right in the spiritual center of Nepal. My heart breaks for all of those who have lost loved ones beneath the rubble of collapsed buildings. There is a stillness here on the West coast where I live, even though there have been two earthquakes here recently... they were not felt on the little Island where I live. I am grateful... grateful and sad. Grief can be so darn bittersweet.

The collective sorrow that is being experienced on our planet right now brings me to the place of wanting to share an experience. It seems that grief is too painful to experience alone, and it doesn't even feel right to suffer alone... we need to grieve with others... in groups. Yes, it takes a village... and  the story I share comes from a deep place of gratitude because I live in such a village... a community of friends who have been there to hold me during my time of grief.

When I returned from the longest winter of my life... the painful blizzard of events leading to the death of both of my parents in one, cold season... my world was spinning. I returned to the West coast, where flowers were already beginning to bloom, and I felt as if I was on some tropical island... the contrast was just so great... and I had only spent the winter one province away, in Alberta! It was not like I had been banished to Siberia... although many times it did feel like I had been. I had been back home for two weeks when I recieved the invitation to come to 'the yurt' to be sung to.

If you haven't heard of the Threshold Choir, please take a moment to look them up and see the endearing work they are doing all over the world.  We have a women's group right here and it is led by my dear friend, Shasta. Her husband (and also a dear friend) Brian and my husband Ron have started the first men's group choir called The Crossing Over Choir. Both of these choirs have a mission to sing 'a cappella' for and with those who are crossing over thresholds of life.

My crossing over threshold was the rite of passage that we all go through when our parents die. When I was sat in the chair in the yurt, surrounded by the loving voices of the friends I know deeply... my tears fell and fell and fell... emptying me, during that time, of the grief I was holding. It was heart-opening and soothing and nurturing. I sailed out of that yurt afterwards, feeling like I had been steeped in a love-bath of sound, and feeling also that there was a bit of ground beneath my grief now... that I had been held.

Life rolls on and triggers arise to push into those tender wounds on a daily basis. I have a few very dear friends who invite me over to sit with me and talk about death and dying and grief. I'm not sure what I would do without these friends. :) My husband is included in these friends I speak of and his patience with me is astounding. I know this is rough on him... his wife returning from some epic winter in Alberta, and she is changed by grief. He dances around me, sometimes with me, and carries on with his own tasks, his life... going with the flow of sometimes happy days and sometimes sad days. I admire him for his willingness to be flexible and patient during this time that I wallow in the ashes. There is not much more that can be done right now.

One evening at our Song Circle group, where we all sit in a circle and sing songs about peace and love, and love... and peace, I was approached by Brian and asked if I would like to attend a weekend retreat that he and Shasta were hosting. They felt it would be really healing for me during this time. I had no hesitation and replied with a yes the very next morning. Well... talk about being held! For the whole weekend! :) :)

About 10 or so of us danced in rhythm together, we shared, we ate yummy food, we sang to and with eachother, we sat in the sun in silence, were bathed in the sounds of flutes and drums, slept deeply with our dreams at night, and did it all again the very next day. There was a morning where we all took turns singing to one another... Threshold style. What happened was amazing for me because as I was singing to the person receiving in the chair, I felt as if rays of light were pouring out of my heart and into theirs. It was so satisfying to pour my love out over them and hear my voice combined with all the other voices singing so tenderly to them.

I had played sweet songs to my parents and they lay dying, and I never used my own vulnerable voice to sing to them. This experience was very healing for me because of that... my voice was finally being expressed and it brought tears to my eyes as my heart cracked open even more. When it was my turn to be sung to, the tears were unstoppable and I felt as if the whole room would fill with my grief. I felt soft hands upon me and heard the soft cries of others as they wept. It was just so beautiful and so incredibly healing. Something very deep shifted within me after that experience. I can't even explain it. It just feels like acknowledgement and connection, compassion and love all rolled into one big ball. And again, I was grateful for the experience and thankful that I could make time to allow myself that kind of immersion of Soul with others.

So yes... it takes a village. Of that I am convinced. We are all intertwined anyway... why not clump together and hold space for each other? In crisis, in grief, in birth, in death, it is our natural inclination to reach out to others. It is happening right now in Nepal, amidst the devastation, people are reaching out and holding vigil for those who died and who are lost. We are not meant to suffer alone... not ever.

Sending you all so much Love, in your communities,

~Mamaleah

Never too late to fall inlove again...

I fell inlove with my Mother again during her last days on the planet. Was it too late for that kind of realization? No... on the contrary, it was very, very healing. For both of us.

How did this come about? After all of my adult years, to finally circle around? To let my stories about her go? What flipped the switch for me?

Well... a bit of background first.

My Mom has always been on the eccentric side, and also incredibly large-hearted. She always worried about what others thought of her, certainly bold enough to take center stage, yet always in the background, felt under-appreciated, unloved, unvalidated and she would find ways to seek that recognition...some of which would come from her in a twisted fashion, or a slammed door (or many slammed doors...in a row), a hand-written toilet paper note that was half a roll long...all of which would make a person want to throw their hands up and say 'i just don't get it... what do you need/want from me??' My Dad certainly had his share of heart-ache, trying to figure out what Mom desired.

She wanted love, more than anything... yet nobody could give it to her. She felt she wasn't worthy, love from others would not enter her easily, except from babies and small children. So, she turned to 'things'. I had an ongoing story for many years that Mom didn't just buy one thing, she bought 10 of them. She bought, and she bought and she bought. Our house where my older brother and I grew up for the first decade of our lives began to fill. Our house in Ferintosh, where we moved to afterwards began to fill and fill and fill. When Mom and Dad separated when I was in my 20's, Mom bought a house in New Norway (down the highway from Dad's) and she filled that place to the brim and had to get an apartment, which she filled and when there wasn't enough room for that place, she got some storage lockers. There are 4 storage lockers that we are left with now... filled with her stuff. We cleared her apartment and all that stuff went into my youngest brother and his wife's garage. The house in New Norway sits... filled to the brim.

On her death bed, my Mom told me that she was not a 'hoarder'... she was a 'collector'. I have been guilty of telling people over the years that my Mom is a hoarder. After sorting through her apartment for 5 hours a day for 4 days straight, I saw for myself that she spoke the truth of herself. She was indeed a collector. And a collector of truly beautiful things... things of value.... high value in some cases. It was eye-opening for me, and so very humbling.

Mom had an OCD quality about her that was never officially diagnosed, and yet the symptoms were crystal clear and quite LOUD in certain cases... especially if anyone was to ever move or get into her things. This condition was greatly accentuated near the end of her life, especially the last week she spent in her apartment, with us kids taking care of her. We didn't dare move anything without her permission, or put our things with her things. I had a red backpack that she absolutely despised for it's colour, because she didn't like red... at all. She told me that she has nothing that is red and that it's her very least favourite colour. So, I would hide my backpack out of her sight upon my visits so as not to rub her the wrong way. When she returned to the hospital for her final week of life, her food tray became some kind of strange obsession: I would offer to lift the lid from her plate and she would go into a panic 'No!' she would start to flap her hands, and I would cover the plate. 'What's on the plate?' she would ask, and I would lift the lid..."No!' she would cry. We would do this for a few rounds until I would give up ... saying I just wanted to help her, and I need her to use her words so I can understand what she needs. The doctors eventually gave her some kind of medication that is also helpful for OCD, and all of this compulsive behavior came to an end and we were all able to take a few deep breaths, and have small, sweet conversations with her.

This is where the love started to waft in for me. I could be with her... just BE, and she surrendered to me just being with her. I could put a cloth on her heated forehead, trim her nails, sit quietly and crochet beside her as she slept. She would do little puppet shows for my older brother and I... feeling a giddy urge to entertain us as we sat with her... raising her hands from the bed and turning them side to side with a grin. Yes, the very low dosage of morphine was most likely creating a loopy existence for her, and it was heartwarming to see her having some fun with it, despite the pain she was in and in being so close to her mortality.

On the last morning we had with her, the nurses came in for a routine insertion of extra pic-lines in her right arm. I wanted to send them away because I could tell how close to death Mom was. They assured me it wouldn't hurt, and I asked them to 'please be gentle with her'. When they were finished, however, Mom looked a bit ruffled. I smoothed her forehead and told her I was there with her now, no more poking and prodding, and asked if she would like to listen to the special music my friends sent, which I had on my phone. She made the sound of yes, and I placed my phone on her pillow and played the song 3 times through. The song is only a 30 second round, sang in harmony by my two beautiful friends (husband and wife) and singing mentors. The lyrics are "I am sending you light, to heal you, to hold you, I am sending you light, to hold you in love". The song was such a gift for myself, my brothers, and especially my Mom...who when she first heard it, asked that I play it to everyone who visited her that day. She was so touched by the beauty. Playing it on this particular morning had profound effects on her... she calmed instantly, and about 15 minutes later, her breath started to get shallow, I called my brothers to the hospital, and she gently died with us all around her...holding her in love.

The healing that happened for me ran very deep as I held her into her death. It was like I saw through every single one of my stories I held about her... they all vanished as I looked upon her... leaving her body behind.

Though I wish I could have had this kind of healing with her in her living life, we did have our moments, despite it all. She was not an easy person to be around, and yet, I see now where she was coming from and I forgive her for everything, and I certainly forgive our relationship. She only wanted love... more than anything. And we tried very hard to give her that, each of us in our own way... and yes, at times we would have to conserve our own energy and walk away from her for a time...and I forgive myself for that too. I needed time to recharge. I also apologized to her for the times that I blew up over the phone... and she received my apology with gratefulness. Ah... the Mother-Daughter relationship! And I was her only one.

The experience of our slow unwinding together, over the last month of her life, and my daily visits with her during that time, was a very large part of our healing and forgiveness. I'm not sure that I would be in the place I am now without that time together, and so I am grateful. Even though it was rough seeing her suffer at times, and go through her mental loops...she did share some very tender stories and say some sweet words that will stay with me... like a healing balm forever imprinted upon my own Soul. I will miss you, Mama, and I love you.

Sending tender-heartedness out to all the dear Mothers and to all those Sons and Daughters who have loved them and were patient and faithful witnesses during their death...

~Mamaleah

Don't give me false hope...

It mattered to me... the flow of my parents' transitioning into death, and that everyone in the picture was on the same page as to 'what' exactly was happening. The 'what', in our death phobic culture, being DYING. Dying was happening. It is happening for all of us, and yet for many, it is actively happening, and quickly.

There was a bit of a hiccup in this flow when my Mom was approaching the end of her life. It rubbed me, and gave me a prickly sensation. I listen to those direct body sensations. The rub came when the doctor suggested that Mom be on the list for a long-term care facility, when to us and from what we were seeing, Mom was clearly showing signs that she would never make it as long as the waiting lists were... 3-6 weeks. Mom's doctor was so confused as to why Mom wasn't on a list and made a big deal about it and even came down on the home-care people, who obviously saw what we saw and didn't encourage us to put Mom on a list. It was confusing and created some self-doubt for us during a time when that's the last thing we needed.

Mom declined very quickly after that interaction and it wasn't an issue anymore, and her Doctor slipped off the scene, and we didn't see her visit Mom again during the last week of her life. I guess she finally recognized that long-term care was scratched off the list.

I knew deep in my heart it was never on the list, and I have a bit of resentment around the doctor's push to instill false hope. That's what it felt like to me. Like Mom's decline was not being honoured and recognized by her own doctor, who she became quite attached to because it is so hard to get in as a new patient with a young doctor in Camrose. And then when it's clear that there is no life-saving happening, the doctor disappears. There is a gap in this scenario.

It is interesting, because after having such an up-close and personal time with Dad during his dying, the signs became very clear to us as Mom progressed. I understand that it is within the Hippocratic Oath for doctors to save lives, and if they were not so attached to that commitment, and used their gut instincts, they may consider a more graceful approach with their dying patients, and certainly a more graceful exit from the scene. My Dad's doctor was intuitive enough to call me directly on my cell phone the day before he died, to wish me her condolences. I only met her once the whole time I was at the Cross Cancer Institute, and spent more time with her fill-in, who was there until the last day and was very sincere about what was happening with Dad. So, there are some who use their gut, and I do appreciate their work within the medical system. The gap might also be filled with more spiritual / grief counselors... who could be there when family couldn't, and who may have some guidance about moving through pain, letting go of attachments, reaching a place of forgiveness and coming more into a space of love as death approaches. They could sit with family members and caretakers as well, for support and guidance.

So, in a culture that is NOT so rooted in hope and life-supporting methods and care, what would it look like when someone you love is dying? I believe you could BE anywhere... home, hospital, outdoors... and as long as everyone was on the same page with their gut instincts and the dying process was accepted and understood as the current path to travel, then do everything possible to facilitate that process as a dying process. Not as a life-saving process, or a 'no, don't leave me' process. Be there...surrender, witness, share stories, share love, cry tears of grief, sing a song or call in some bedside singers, play beautiful music on the CD player, laugh, hold hands, rub shoulders and foreheads, and listen, listen, listen.

With love to you, I leave you with a song, for soul food and tears...

~Mamaleah

The Death of my Parents

In the span of four months, both of my parents died from aggressive, terminal cancer.  My father was 75, and my mother, who died 2 and a half months after him, was 67. They left behind 5 children, all of which were present at their deaths.

Long story short, my parents had been separated for 20+ years (never being able to settle on a divorce), and had a volatile relationship during those years, and in the end, both of them recalled on their death beds, in their own tender way and tinged with their own regrets, how they met and their wedding day. I have yet to understand the nature of their relationship and why this lifetime was such a struggle for them both. All I know is that love can be fierce… and even on the flip-side of anger, that fierceness is there and linked with love. The sad part for them both is that so much perceived anger was pushed down over the years, communicated between eachother as reaction after reaction, doors slammed, feelings hurt, on and on. My 3 younger brothers were caught in the crossfire, and my older brother and I couldn't leave home fast enough. I have a very strong feeling that their aggressive cancer was a result of this anger, and even though regrets were expressed leading up to their deaths, by then may have been too late. 

My Mother was a 'collector' of beautiful things. The expansive nature of this scenario is that she had a very serious case of OCD along with a very large emotional gap she was trying to fill. Her compulsion to collect knick knacks led her to having a house, 5 storage lockers and an apartment FULL of collected items, all of which we have been left with and which my younger brother and his wife generously volunteered to sell off over time. In the end, Mom let go of some of her special things, slowly and gracefully at times, not so much so at other times, and the last week she spent in hospital, she had nothing of her personal belongings with her except her pajamas, which she told me to take away. She had completely let go.

My Father had very few belongings along his death journey… essentials. Hospital living provides very little space… access to a drawer and table top, at the most, if one is bed-ridden. Dad had some special books and some crystals which I brought to lay on his chest as a daily ritual for healing. Every day, I would bring my little crystals, and lay them on his chest and he would also hold one in his left hand, which he had lost function in. I would sit with him for a few hours like that and we would talk about everything under the sun, which also include the Sun, the Universe, the Great Beyond, where Dad came from... his experience of when Atlantis sank (he was there and remembers it very clearly), and his childhood, growing up and adult life stories. We had the best talks... and then again, he and I have always had the best talks... highly spiritual and so very inspiring and energizing.

I spent a total of 9 weeks in the hospital with both my parents combined, on a daily basis. If I never set foot in another hospital for a good, long while, that is fine with me. It is a distracting place, too sanitary, all kinds of people with all kinds of ailments. My heart would break on a daily basis, making eye contact with people in the halls, in their rooms, faces paled by pain and illness...loved ones coming to hold their hands. Nurses, some with soft voices and soft manners and some with a hardness that repels. I came to love those soft spoken ones, with a slight sense of humour...like a mother or sister. They made such a big difference in the day-to-day. I am grateful for these loving souls.

My parents were not big drug or hospital people, my Dad didn’t want any morphine whatsoever, and my Mom was given just the tiniest amount and it hit her like a freight train. She had much more pain than Dad did… the large tumours in her abdomen swelled quickly and began pressing on her inner organs, eventually causing her to hemorrhage internally and shut down her kidneys, causing the fluid to migrate into her lungs. My Dad had a very rare, very quick spreading spinal tumour that metastasized into his lungs, collapsing one which was remedied by a chest drainage tube, and eventually after a course of radiation, there was internal bleeding for him as well. He became toxic and went into hypoxia and never awoke after his last breakfast.

I have been dancing all around 'the cancer thing' for years now, as a Nutritionist and in my studies and research I have come across numerous books, sites, and videos of people curing their cancer with natural remedies and therapies. I even attempted to open a non-profit society for those people, upon hearing their diagnosis of cancer, to have a place to stay to process what their next actions would be… all the while surrounded by loving individuals, music, drumming, dancing, healthy food and others in a similar situation to talk to about their feelings. The bureaucracy of achieving charitable status was a huge deterrent for me… a square box the government required me to put my very rounded project idea into, and the whole project began to lose it’s shine after too much trimming and was dropped. It just wasn’t the right avenue for what I wanted to achieve. Perhaps some road will open for it one day… I still think it is a very valuable project. When one is presented with the fact that they are going to die, even though it is the case for all of us and we somehow forget that, life changes. Drastically. How are we supposed to hold this knowledge on our own? We need community. My project was all about community and holding eachother, with the knowledge that yes, we are going to die. How do we now shape that for and with eachother?

I often question the choices my parents made with regards to their 'treatments'. Would I ever chose that route? My heart says NO after seeing what I saw. My Mom chose chemo and actually did really well on it... surprisingly well. My Father was encouraged by his doctor after his tumour returned, to have it radiated, and he chose a 3 week, daily treatment option. Because his tumour was so rare, he was also being closely monitored… a case study of sorts. I didn’t realize until later that he knew this, and he was offering himself to the study… as a way to help the doctors learn what worked and what didn’t for his rare tumour. After an earlier surgery to remove the tumour, he had a one-of-a-kind, newly fangled contraption called a ‘squirrel cage’, made of titanium, holding his upper spine together. It was a miracle that he could even walk after the surgery. He lost alot of motor function and had extensive nerve damage from his chest down to his toes, however, he could walk. He walked for 6 months until one day he fell down and had a very hard time getting back up. His Soul-companion of 9 years, Maureen, who was living with and caring for him during those 6 months, called his doctor and the next day brought him to emergency to have a scan. That scan revealed his tumour had returned and was growing fast. So fast that he would be completely paralyzed within months. He lasted two months… and was almost completely paralyzed in the end. 

I had a deep yearning, the whole time my dear Dad was in hospital, to take him home and nurse him myself. I even had an initial plan for him to spend the winter with me on the West coast, flying him from Alberta. I had the electric hospital bed, and the cane, and all the plans… but then he fell, and landed in the hospital, so I went to be with him there instead… for two wintery months I walked, bussed, caught rides… whatever I had to do to be by his side on a daily basis. You couldn’t have torn me away from him. I was committed to be beside him until the end, and I never knew when that end would be… even though I tried in my super-human way to make plans, every single one would fall through as something would shift or change for him. So, I surrendered to go with the flow.  After three weeks of being in Edmonton at the very busy and chaotic Cross Cancer Institute, however, both Dad and I were ready to go home. We had plans, and the nurses and doctors were setting it up for Dad to be released to his home-town to rest and be comfortable in palliative care and stop being tested, radiated and poked and prodded… and then his condition shifted drastically one morning as he began hemorrhaging internally and the next evening, he died.

Shortly after his death, I had a dream. I was nursing him by myself, in his home. Because of the huge amount of work nursing someone takes, we didn’t have time for all of our awesome conversations, and all our time was spent changing diapers, linens, preparing food… and Dad was not too happy about me wiping his butt! The interesting thing is that the sequence of events was identical… the cold setting into his lungs and turning into pneumonia, the collapsed lung, the chest tube insertion, the paralysis, the internal hemorrhaging… it all still happened. His death still happened. There was nothing I could have done to shift the course of how this was all going to play out for him, because it was destined to play out this way… and I woke from this dream with a strong feeling that all was as it was meant to be. I felt more at peace after the dream, though still deeply grieving the loss of my IDEA of the perfect death for my beloved Father. 

After having him cremated, I flew back home to my family, and was only home for a month and a half when my brothers and I learned that our Mother’s cancer had returned. She also, about a year or so prior, had surgery to remove an aggressive tumour within her uterus. She had a complete hysterectomy, as well as removal of some of her surrounding inguinal glands, followed by radiation of the area and a round of chemo. Her one-year follow up showed that she was ‘clean’. When my Dad was in the hospital after his fall, I remember visiting with Mom, and she was very stressed and not looking so good… kind of grey in the face. When Dad went to the Cross Cancer Institute in Edmonton for those 3 weeks in November, Mom had an appointment there as well for a check-up, which she missed because of snowy weather. Had she gone at that time, I bet they would have revealed that her cancer had returned and she would have been admitted for treatment. By mid-January, she was on the edge of death when we learned about what was going on for her, which she was withholding from us because she was worried it was too soon after our Dad’s death (Nov. 29th) and that we were still heavily grieving. We were, and yet she was in a very grave situation and we had her rushed to the hospital with the help of our youngest brother and his wife who lived close-by. They stayed with her there for a week until the rest of us could fly out and drive up. Mom had indeed almost died, and she had two very large tumours in her abdomen, some spots on her lungs, two thirds of her kidneys had failed, her adrenals were being pressed by the tumours and she had a bladder infection and blood clots in her leg. A blood transfusion perked her up enough to have some quality time with her family and get her plans in order, however, the doctors gave her a prognosis of 2 weeks to live. 

She was doing so well for a bit, that we were able to take her to her apartment and care for her there for a week. She very quickly declined however, and her brain was getting more and more scrambled and her communication more cryptic (mini-strokes?). She would ramble on for ours and none of it would make sense. Mom has always been a talker... a 2 hour phone conversations would consist of a dozen Um hum's and oh's from the other person on the line... and that's just how she was. And in the end, it was non-stop for her as well... until it got so jumbled and even she was having a hard time getting the words out. That week was a very challenging, super-emotionally draining, dark week for my brothers and I. Mom's appetite declined severely and she was having a very hard time eating and we spoon feed her because she was becoming too weak to sit up or get out of bed. As soon as she couldn’t make it to the washroom on her own anymore, we all agreed she needed to go back to hospital. She lasted one week longer until her kidneys shut down, and the tumours filled her abdomen completely, pressing into all of her organs.

Mom was on a very low dose of morphine and way more lucid than Dad was at the end. There was another drug she was on too, I forget the name. It calmed her brain down enough that she was able to speak again in a way that we could understand her and she told us each some very sweet things before she died. She asked my forgiveness, because I was so young and left to look after my brothers all those years ago. I told her of course I forgive her and that I loved her and was so grateful to have had this time with her. All of my brothers also told her they loved her and that they were ready to let her go.

She was opening her eyes and making small response sounds until just before she left her body. My brother and I each had a hand on her shoulders, one on each side, as if we were guiding her… up through the almighty death canal… she was held in love, my other brothers around her as well. She had the death grimace a few times, like Dad did, and her breathing softened so gently, with a slight gurgling from the fluid in her lungs. I felt so filled with love for her as she was dying, such relief filled my chest because it was such a gentle process. We removed the oxygen tube from her nose as her breaths got further apart, and within a couple minutes, she tried to draw a few breaths from deeper down, winced very deeply (perhaps at the exact moment her heart stopped beating), and that was it. She died just after 11am on February 11th. We stayed around her and the tears fell for a time, all of us quiet. I put my hand on her chest… her heart chakra...and the heat was still there, even after a couple hours of us in the room, sharing stories and experiences about Mom. It was a tender moment, leaving the room for the last time, leaving the womb that birthed us all, behind.

My Father passed very similarly, his last breaths after the oxygen had been turned to it’s lowest setting, a few deep ones, the grimace, and then the last breath. After a few minutes of gazing in disbelief at his unmoving chest, I turned to my oldest brother and let out a keening wail into his shoulder as he held me. I didn’t know I could even make that sound. My heart absolutely broke when my dear ‘ol Dad left his body. I felt like part of my soul had been ripped away as well. I still feel that way. I have loved that man fiercely, all my life. He was and forever will be my hero.

Despite my parents’ drama and separation over the years in this life, I had a real sense that they were very old souls and this lifetime was a powerful one for them, leaving them both with some continued karma to deal with, however, they did make an effort in the end with their attempts to resolve some of it for themselves, if not with eachother. My Dad leaving my Mom in his Will was a compassionate gesture on his part, and my Mom finding some acknowledgement and forgiveness because of that gesture. Before I had heard the news of Mom’s cancer returning, and just after my Dad’s death, I had a dream about the two of them. It made no sense to me at the time, and didn’t until the evening that my brother told me the news about Mom’s health situation. In the dream, that same brother and I were making some sort of plans that we were excited about, and we had one question for Dad. I looked around and saw him lying there in a hospital bed, so I approached. As I did so, I happened to notice that Mom was there right beside Dad, also lying in her own hospital bed. They were both having a very heated discussion and paid me no notice. I approached Dad and asked him the question, to which he didn’t respond. He only looked at me very gravely, like I was interrupting something very, very important that had nothing to do with me. I caught the hint and moved away, leaving them to continue their intense conversation. I awoke rather confused by the dream scenario. Weeks later, on the phone with my brother telling me the news about Mom, I got a chill from head to toe as the dream came back to me. I stopped the conversation to share the profoundness of the dream and it left us both speechless for a moment. I never told Mom about this prophetic dream, nor did I have any intention to. Again, I was left with the feeling that the way this was all playing out was part of some much larger plan.

The closer to death Mom approached, the less fear she had. About four days before her death, my Mom told my oldest brother “I can’t wait”. Can’t wait for what? he asked. “I can’t wait to die”. And only weeks before, she was filled with fear, and wondering if she would be accepted into heaven, or if she’d be going to hell. She sure hoped it would be heaven, she said. She also mentioned to me one evening about a man standing by the mirror in her hospital room. This was a few days before she died. She said the light was shining on him. I wasn't sure who she was talking about, and I didn't ask...I just listened and acknowledged her. My Dad also had very interesting dreams leading up to his death which he shared:
He said that St. Germaine was there with him in the form of a dog, and they were running and flying together, and that he was really looking forward to meeting him on a soul-level, and that they were all waiting for him as well... and he smiled.

Dad was never afraid, and looked forward to the liberating, spiritual aspect of it… and of course to find his spaceship and take his rightful place at the high table. :) In his spiritual circle of friends, he was known affectionately as Commander Ziggy (Commander Z for short), and I had no doubt that he was a VERY old Soul and extremely advanced among the ranks!  The last night of my Dad’s life, he had a very fitful sleep. He was uncomfortable, and every couple of hours he would call out for me or the nurses to help him re-adjust or have his diaper changed. He was hemorrhaging internally by this point and he said he just didn’t feel good. At one point around 3 or 4 am, he called for me and I ran my hand over his forehead and said quietly into his ear “It’s alright Dad… don’t worry.” To which he replied in a very serious tone “I am NOT worried.” Ahhh, right… because he never was. I was the one who was worried, not he… and he set me straight! After his fitful night, he ate a fairly decent sized breakfast of cream-of-wheat porridge and he made a special request for pears. One of my other brothers made the run to find some as I spoon fed Dad, then he ate a few slices of the canned pears my brother found, looked rather unimpressed, and then asked to be laid back in his bed. I tucked him in, gave him a kiss and wished him sweet dreams and told him I loved him. I had no idea he would never wake up. He slipped into unconsciousness and then hypoxia until he died that evening at 6:10pm.

He found his spaceship, by the way. :) His dear partner, Maureen, who I am also very close with and who experiences the veils between life and death as very thin, is now able to communicate with Commander Z and she sends me messages from him from time to time. On the morning my mother was actively dying, I was with her alone for a short period of time. I sat in a chair and looked out the window long and hard as the snow fell. I pleaded with Dad to come pick her up in his spaceship and take her for one heck of a ride, because she most certainly deserved it. I also pleaded that he show her the ropes, and look out for her as she finds her way HOME. My tears fell along with the snow outside the window, and Mom let out a little whimper… and I felt she was sensing my tears. I went over to her and ran my hand over her forehead. Very shortly after that, her breath softened. I felt Dad was coming to pick her up. Maureen emailed me after Mom had passed, with this message from 'Z' : "He wanted me to tell you that he did come pick your Mom up in his space ship and she had a beautiful and joyful ride. He said to tell you that she was welcomed Home with great applause and that, even though she's still orienting to having left her body behind, she is happy and enjoying laughing in ways she hasn't laughed in a very long time. He said that each of them had very successful lives, no matter how things might have looked on the surface of human appearances. It made me happy myself to hear and I hope that passing that on to you will also give you some comfort and peace". :) :) It did, Maureen. Thank-you.

We buried our Mother on Valentine's day (the same day that one year ago, Dad had his first spinal surgery) in a little cemetery outside of Camrose, Alberta. She requested a simple pine box and graveside burial, with just her children and her good friend, Norman, present. She also requested to be swaddled within the pine box in a blanket, and I like to imagine she was. My Dad's funeral in Wetaskiwin isn't until May, when the Alberta snows thaw and family can travel from afar. He came from a family of 13, so there will be many attending.

What I learned from the experience of being with both my parents as they died, is how much love was present, and how I have never experienced my heart breaking open like that… it was like a physical pain, a wrenching. And it was because of love. There was also a large amount of forgiveness that happened, both with and without the words.  I feel blessed that they both died slowly enough that us kids could be there by their side, have time to talk with them and share stories and hold and touch them. My brothers and I received the gift of BEING there, with both of them, and for that I am forever grateful.

I miss them both immeasurably, and right now, my tears fall daily. My path in life has been altered, and I must find a new way of BEING… in my family life which now consists of my brothers and I, with my dear husband and my 2 wonderful sons, my wonderful friends and community...yet it feels challenging at times. Grief is a new guest in my house… passing through at random times and asking me to work hard. Some moments I want to turn away, and then I remind myself that the only way to the other side is THROUGH, and so I sit down and write or listen, or look… and the tears come as I do grief’s dance. <3

Sending LOVE to all those who are grieving their parents and loved Ones,

~Mamaleah

A New Beginning

A rite of passage has occurred, and occurs for all of us... yet how do we process it? In a way, this is how I will open myself to processing, and working with the grief I am experiencing over the death of both of my parents in such a short period of time. I chose the title of 'Grief Dancer', because there is a grace in dance... a fluidity and flexibility that I desire to hold hands with as I travel down the road ahead of me. In my sharing here, I expect there to be ups and downs, questions, tears, laughter around certain memories, perhaps anger... all threads in the weave, and life ahead, the loom.

May we all dance, together, through our grief and share our stories about death and dying, with relation to our loved ones, ourselves and our culture.

Love to you, Mamaleah

Image credit: 'Shelter for Opening' by Autumn Skye Morrison  www.autumnskyemorrison.com