I Wish I Had Been With My Mother When She Died ~ Perhaps we have nothing to fear
I wish I had been with my mother when she died. I wish I had joined her in those final stages of release, sat nearby when she turned inward to behold her radiance. I wish I had been there when she saw again the truth of who she was, dropping the selves that she had worn through this lifetime.
Death took her hand and said, "Turn towards this, turn towards this." I imagine she relaxed, finally. My dad was next to her, did he notice? Did he see and celebrate, or was blinded by impending loss?
I wish I had known what I am beginning to know now when I touched her warm body an hour after she was gone. There was still a tiny strand of saliva running between her teeth. I was fascinated in my grief by this last vestige of life. Once it broke, there would be no more. The body's movements had ceased.
I wish I had protected the space so I could have had a surrendered silence with her. People coming and going disrupted the sacred bell that had been rung. I think I could have heard it.
I wonder what she held in her then as she took me in, her daughter, her imperfect love, all restored to wholeness.
I would have liked to feel her, her essence shining, her wisdom moving like wind, her final pause with me before streaming on.
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