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Death. Life and Death. Death. Life and Death. Life. Life and Death. Death.
Death.
The heartbeat’s pause, letting go of what no longer nourishes our Highest Self.
Life and Death. Life. Life and Death. Death. Life and Death. Life. Life and Death.
Life.
The heartbeat’s beat, our creative acts, even if only to breathe. Breathe. Deeply.
In. Out. In. Out. In. Out.
Life. Death.
Are we In? Or? Are we Out?
Father’s Day. I tiptoe to the open door of my dad’s room. I watch under the overhead light’s soft glow. I wait. Watch. Wait. There, finally the movement of his covers. Signs of life’s breath. Slowly . . . in . . . hold. Hold. Slowly . . . out . . . hold. Hold. I wonder how often he and Mom stood in the dark of night at bedroom doors of us kids, checking our hold on the rhythm of life. But Mom is no longer here to ask, and Dad’s memories are increasingly lost in Alzheimer’s late-stage deserts. I am grateful he still remembers he has six children, much less our names and generally where we are in our lives.
It’s been a little over two years since Mom’s sudden death to brain cancer. I like to think this is Mom’s gift to him, her reaching death first, so he may truly feel his children’s love without her buffer, and know that his strong love of God and family is an undying legacy within each one of us. We are bound tighter through our love for each other than we are pushed apart by our different life paths and beliefs.
In my death-bed promise to Mom, to be there for Dad, I didn’t realize I was saying yes to the role of midwife to Death. This journey with Dad is an emotional roller coaster of grief and gifts. The grief comes in waves, much like contractions. I feel acutely the times he stands at his own portals to the other side and chooses: Life continuance on this side, or Death and Life anew on the other side. The waves of grief wash over me while I wait in silent witness. I sense Mom on the other side at times, bearing her own witness to this midwife role we share. Dad has always chosen to stay. Gifts of time, these “miracle moments of now” continue, and grief passes until the next wave.
Life. Life and Death. Death. Life and Death. Life.
The heartbeat’s beat, being fully alive in each miracle moment of now.
Dad and I come back from our walk. Something catches my eye in the Afghan pine by the front door. A hummingbird nest! There hasn’t been one here since before Mom died. Incredible. A gift of beauty and delicate architecture. Little leaves from the nearby purple sage are small nest decorations attached to the outside. I grab my camera and take pictures. Yet, something stops me from touching the nest or pulling the branch closer for a clearer picture. With care, I snap a last picture and go inside. Later, I check on the nest. A hummingbird! The nest is not abandoned after all.
Death. Life and Death. Life. Life and Death. Death.
The heartbeat’s pause, let go.
After Mom died, I stayed on, getting financial and caregiver frameworks in place so Dad could continue living at the family home. Gradually I increased my time away until I was only coming down one or two times a month; staying for three to four days at a time. Now it seems I have come full circle. Since Father’s Day, I have only been back home for three nights. Every three days or so I call the companion care agency and our overnight person: “Yes, I am still here. Yes, my latest plan is to leave Saturday. Yes. Thanks.”
I don’t want to lose these caregivers, this great team we worked so hard to create. But I can’t leave. The intensity of this portal brought me to my knees in grief, even before I left home. I feel so strongly this is the one, the time he won’t be able to choose to stay any longer on this side. What he came here to do and be is done. And yet I do not know. I do not see on this plane what I feel at this portal. Dad continues to enjoy life with no acute sign of physical failing. I have been fooled before by grief’s intensity.
The chatter of my mind is incessant, trying to figure out the right thing to do. For me. For him. Where is the balance so I don’t lose everything I have created by being here full-time? Self-employed, I am between contracts right now. I have time, but no financial reserves to take care of my already-late payments on house and bills. How do I make this work without losing everything?
You are to trust. If you truly believe that you are where you need to be, why can you not trust all will be taken care of? The bird sitting on the nest does not focus on anything but the nurturance of the eggs. You, too, are incubating new life. Not only your dad’s but yours. It is not a time for “figuring out,” only Being. Be in trust. Fully. |
To be self-employed and live an intuitive life is not for the faint of heart. I try not to blink in the face of this latest spiritual challenge. Slowly I quiet the fear chatter, only to have my siblings resurrect its voice. Their questions rip at my fragile peace.
“Terry how are you making it?” “What do you mean? Dad sounded fine to me when I talked to him.” “Why are you staying?” “Do I need to be there, too?” “What about your life?” “You can’t make this your whole life. It’s not healthy. For you or Dad.” “What if we lose caregivers because family is there instead?”
I have no answers. Somehow I manage not to hang up, or to disconnect as a way to silence our fears when my words fail. My ability to sense these new shifts Dad is undertaking comes easier than my words to describe the shifts. I do not know how what I sense will unfold or manifest. The physical signs we see now do not fully support what I feel is happening. Nor can I know the rate of the shifts I sense taking place. Much is veiled from me. It is not my journey; I can only give voice to what I notice as the picture I sense emerges. No one is satisfied. Their fears are not quieted without solid data, and the scientist in me hates sounding like a flake. Yet I do not blink. I am given just enough to know where I need to be for now. I cannot ignore this feeling. I need to be here. That I trust, even if I know nothing else.
Dad has his own fears and worries. “You aren’t hurting yourself by staying down here so long are you?”
I pause, but don’t blink. “No Dad, I’ll be fine.”
“You didn’t get fired did you?”
“No Dad, I am self-employed. So I get to set my own schedule.”
I am fearless of changes. Yet I find my struggle with letting go slows me down. Keeps me straddling the chasm instead of making the clean leap. Why is that?
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My trust in the Divine Plan is tempered within the fires of fears transformed. I find a place of peace and let go, as best I can, of when I will return home. I call the companion care agency and our private-pay overnight person. “Please take us off your schedule for now.” I get by with just one person from the medical care agency coming in four hours each day. I call my siblings. I listen to the ebbs and flows of their fears. This time when I hang up, laughter bubbles up. A Greek Chorus! The universe has provided me a Greek Chorus to test my beliefs against.
Laughter shifts my heart from their fears to their steadfast love underneath. Love and laughter inspire a new response to Dad’s fears. “Hey Dad, remember how you used to do contract work? Well, right now, my contract is with God, and this is where God wants me to be. Right here with you. Mom must be talking to God for us.”
His smile gives way to tears. “It means so much to me to have you here, but I couldn’t stand it if I caused you problems.”
“Dad, I can’t think of another place I would rather be right now. But I haven’t a clue about the terms of this contract. You know God only works on a need-to-know basis. So you got me here for as long as God says, and we have good guardian angels watching over us.”
He smiles. “I sure hope so honey.”
Life. Life and Death. Death. Life and Death. Life.
The heartbeat’s beat, being fully alive in each miracle moment of now.
We slip into our familiar rhythm. Finding gifts in each miracle moment of now. My mornings are times of meditation, walking between worlds, or writing. I try to keep this time just for me while Dad sleeps. A sleep pattern he has had much longer than the Alzheimer’s. It was Mom’s alone time, too. The caregiver comes at 12:30 p.m. to help with showers, general personal care, and meals. My time for errands. Most days, I have lunch with Dad at two-thirty or three in the afternoon. I look for stories to read while he eats. Some days, lunch is over by four; others it’s five. After the “noon” meal, he and the caregiver finish their day while I clean up the kitchen. When the caregiver leaves at five, Dad and I are on our own again.
We play cards on his good days. The good days are not as frequent now, even with my cues. It’s hard to see that demise. I buy an old favorite board game: Candy Land. It’s as much fun now with Dad as it was when I was little. I make his favorite cookies: oatmeal. We go for walks. But only to the white mailbox now, third house, up the street. He no longer has it in him to go to the yellow barrier at the end of the street, just past the fourth house.
The portal waves of grief have ebbed again. Was my transformation—finding peace in the not knowing—the task for now? Has he indeed passed this portal too? Still, something always prolongs my stay. Either Dad’s health slips, or some house repair necessitates my attention, my continued focus here.
After the latest “crisis,” I pray for clarity, to be guided in my decisions here and when to return to Albuquerque. This week perhaps? The very next day, Dad’s primary medical caregiver turns in her resignation.
Death. Life and Death. Life. Life and Death. Death.
The heartbeat’s pause, let go.
I have always believed my task as a human is to live from a love-filled heart, acting in integrity with my Highest Self. That is all. The consequences, the outcomes, are out of my control. Always. They unfold according to natural laws within the Divine Plan. Knowing this for years did not free me from my vigilance. Instead it became my guide to watch for mistakes so I could quickly learn and never repeat them. Until one year it occurred to me to ask why this was so important, and I was answered.
I came into this life with memories of other deaths embedded in my cellular structure. I carried a great grief and knowledge that something I didn’t “do right” resulted in deaths of cherished loved ones. Their deaths were the result of my mistakes, or misplaced trust, or being misunderstood. If I “do it right” this time, no harm will come to those I love. The great irony of this lifetime role of midwife to Death does not escape me. Still, it is my chance to deepen my understanding.
Life. Life and Death. Death. Life and Death. Life.
The heartbeat’s beat, being fully alive in each miracle moment of now.
Dad and I are enjoying a show on television. Something makes me laugh. I look over to share with Dad. No response. He is slumped over in his chair. I watch. Is this how life ends? I watch. There. Slow breaths. In. Out. My heart is pinched in unbearable pain. Another Death contraction as the waves of grief crash over in my relief. I breathe. In. Out.
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Death. Life and Death. Life. Life and Death. Death.
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Being midwife to Death, “doing it right,” results in death. How do I make my peace with Death? With “doing it right”? How do I let go? How can I be in co-creation with the Divine if I do not understand? Death is not the measure of whether I did something right. Not now; not in the past. Love, forgiveness, and gratitude are the only measures. Is there more? Is there more love, forgiveness, and gratitude because I existed in this miracle moment of now? Or is there less?
Death. Life and Death. Life. Life and Death. Death.
Life. Life and Death. Death. Life and Death. Life.
I listen to the refrain. Wait. Something is not right. It implies Death is the absence of Life. That isn’t what I believe! Where is Birth? Where does Birth fit in? Life energy is neither created nor destroyed. Isn’t one’s Soul, our true Life, the energy maintained regardless of forms, births, deaths? Death is only the portal for Birth. Death does not define Life.
Letting go, space for new acts of creation.
Life. Birth and Death. Life.
Life.
I take Dad his morning medication. He is awake and on his way back from the bathroom. “Hey Dad! I have something to show you.”
“What is it, honey?”
“The baby hummingbird is very active today. You can really see her. Here, look!”
The baby hummingbird tests her wings in the nest. Her mom flies in and circles away. Transfixed, we watch the little one make her first flight out into her new world.
Copyright 2006 by Theresa L. Hicks
