Passing

I used to think the most holy and precious moments of my life were the moments I gave birth. Full of pain and hardship but, then, tremendous joy and a new understanding of my connection with God as co-creator with God.
A year ago this coming Sunday was also a time of intense pain and hardship. For a week I had shared with my siblings, my father, my relatives and friends as Mom began her passing from us to another place.
I had never been a part of death in that way before. Mom had talked with me about times when she had been with people as they slipped away from this life. I knew I wanted to be there when Mom left. It was a very long and beautiful week. If I could talk with Mom now she would say, "Wasn't that wonderful that week I was in the coma?!" She would have loved it. Maybe she did. I don't know. In many ways, it was one of the most precious weeks of my life.
The morning Mom left has become, in my mind, a very holy day. We were there, waiting, Ken, Susan, Diane, Debbie and Sandy. Others were coming and going. Those who were more familiar with passing seemed to know the time would not be long. I can't speak of how anyone else felt. But for me, it was about the breathing, and the warmth of her hand. I don't know what time of that night she began to breathe like a baby. That breathe and stop, breath and stop kind of breathing a new born has. I have watched many babies breathe like that. Unless you have I cannot describe it to you. When it began, it gave me peace. It was familiar and it represented life to me. With each breath there was more time before another breath. Each time I wondered if it would come again.
By that time I was ready for it to stop. I felt that whole week the struggle it was for Mom to keep living. Each day seemed so long for her, and, of course for us.
I didn't want to loose her but I knew it was time. I knew with every part of my being that she wanted to go. She had told me so many times that she was not afraid to die, even longed for that time when she would meet Jesus. (thinking of it now I am jealous of her. And even a little angry at her for going without me.)
I don't think I really knew, until the moment I saw Mom die, what a soul was. Somehow, now, I know. When she took her last breath Diane began the song, "Praise ye the Lord - Hallalueh!" We all joined in. We cried and we laughed.
I don't think I could describe that moment as joyful. The grief was overwhelming. It still is sometimes. As we stayed with her, her body became cold. It was like seeing a soul leave. It was during that time that I realized she was no longer with us. Her shell was there but she was gone.
I say it was a holy time because being with her as she went on to the new place she is in was a sacrament. It was like the final sacrament of life. A sacrament, by definition is an opportunity for us to experience God in the midst of life. Baby blessing, baptism, marriage, annointing the sick... and, now I see, death itself.
The passing.
Mom taught us to include God in all of life. There were times when she did it so well it annoyed us. It seemed too simplistic. It was in the way she lived and in the way she died that I was able to see God most clearly. If I could pass on any gift to my children and grandchildren it would be to give them many holy moments when, in the midst of every detail of their life, they would experience the peace that is God. Perhaps the only way I can do it is like Mom did, by living it. May God have mercy on me that I can follow Mom's example.