Dad ~ Two Years

Two years now, and feeling shaken by the amount of tenderness I woke with this morning. My heart is still breaking, I am still missing the earthly presence of my dear ol' Dad.

I had a flashback this morning to his last conscious morning, two years ago, after a very fitful night together in the hospital...me and my brothers by his side. He was hungry the morning after, and ate the most he'd eaten all week and then he made a simple request for a pear. My brother Ryan hit the hospital halls, asking every nurse if there was a pear to be found. He returned with a small plastic container of pears, which I cracked open and spoon fed to Dad. The look on his face was of disappointment and pure surrender (we all know that packaged pears in that sweet syrup taste nothing like a real, juicy pear). That was it.... he was done. He asked to be laid down in a resting position in his bed and he closed his eyes and never opened them again. Then at 6:30pm, after a long day of labouring breaths, he was off to the Great Beyond.

Yes, I woke with this tender memory, as fresh as it was happening yesterday. It is fascinating how the heart remembers and feels so deeply on these marker dates. I have been feeling so resilient and even joyful these few months ... then boom, the tears are raw and fresh. Ahhhh, grief... you are continually there, ready to burst into the room. It is a good thing I have befriended you!! And, in memory of Dad's last request, I added a pear to my breakfast. <3

My Dad's house has sold now, just days after my 44th birthday. There came a huge sense of relief, mixed with an equal amounts of bittersweet nostalgia. I feel it was the absolute right decision, given the situation myself and my brothers are in, and the massive repairs and time needed to fix Dad's house... the letting go will allow something new to come in, and already there has been much to celebrate. My younger brother Ryan just got married Nov. 5th, and he is now being welcomed into a new family and we are all so happy to see his world opening up. We are each finding ways to expand ... and the horizon is looking rosy once again.

These yearly anniversaries invite me to light my candles, and reflect on the big love that I shared with my very special Dad. Every morning, on my yoga mat, I thank him and Mom for loving eachother enough to birth me out into the world. I am so very grateful to be here, because of them. Their LOVE created me! It warms my heart, everyday, and gives me a motive to keep on going. To share what I have, knowing it also came from them...

Dad... I love you to the Moon and back, and today... to the New Moon in Sagittarius and back! My heart will forever hold you close....remembering being ALIVE together....

Love you,

Leah xoxoxoxoxox

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