Death. Dying. Two different aspects of the same process. Dying is a process while death is the final result. What will it be like to die? Is there a way to make this passage easier? For both the person dying and the loved ones being left behind? Will our death be sudden or a protracted process? No one knows. Either way, there is so much to explore about these questions: 1) What will it be like to die? and, 2) Is that all there is? In other words, is it the end of our sense of who we are or does a part of us go on into an unknown territory? How can we possibly know the answers to these questions if we cannot ask someone who has crossed that border?
We are fortunate at this point of time when we do have some idea of what it might be like to die due to research into death and dying that has been ongoing for some time. We had Elisabeth Kubler-Ross who described the stages of dying: Anger, Denial, Bargaining, Depression and Acceptance. Her work helped us to understand what it might be like if learn that we are going to die or that we are going to lose someone to death. This only describes the stages that we will consciously go through however, but it doesn’t tell us if there is evidence of survival after death. It does help us to help others through the process of confronting death by providing a roadmap of what we may experience emotionally, and that is valuable in so many ways.
Then there was Ray Moody who wrote the book, “Life After Life” which was published in 1975. That book truly caught my attention and eventually influenced my direction in psychology in many ways. I wanted to know more and understand human consciousness and all that can be learned about it.
As a professor of psychology since the 1990’s, I developed and taught classes that explored various aspects of human consciousness delving into the roots (or history) of consciousness, explored the effects of in-utero experiences through the stages of the birth process and how the effects of each stage could explain later psychological difficulties or challenges as an adult. I read account after account of anomolies in consciousness that couldn’t be explained through the usual cause and effect models. Extrasensory perception studies by Charles Tart of UC Davis and studies recounted by Dean Radin took me deeper into anomolies of consciousness. Paul Pearsall, a heart transplant doctor, wrote of how transplant recipients often take on some of the characteristics and “consciousness” of the donor. I learned about the quantum nature of consciousness, taking me into the realm of quantum physics exploring the notions of entanglement, entrainment, the observer effect, Heisenberg’s Uncertainty Principle and more.
Since 1998, the Esalen Center for Theory and Research in Big Sur, California has continued to compile and investigate evidence that supports reincarnation and the survival of bodily death. There is a wealth of fascinating research to explore on these subjects. It gives us a bit of comfort to know about these studies and what they found about reincarnation and the survival of bodily death. Check it out at the link at the beginning of this paragraph and this link as well: Esalen Research Initiatives (I find pages 15-19 to be the most relevant to the topic of the survival of consciousness after bodily death).
This background has formed the basis of my understanding and direction for awakening consciousness. Dying presents us with unique experiences that may herald what death will be like. Death is finite to the physical body, but what about our consciousness? Does that suddenly cease when our body stops functioning? Will our consciousness change? Most of us have some form of faith to lean upon that provides comfort to the process of dying, but since most people don’t want to delve deeply into the topic of their own death, we simply avoid it. What if we could be assured that dying is perfectly safe and that there are others who can serve as a midwife to the dying process?
Midwives have assisted women in childbirth for millenia and it wasn’t until the early 20th century that doctors usurped the job of midwives and hospital births became more common. Yet, midwives provided a unique support system to the birthing mother. Today midwives are once again on the rise. So as a society we have supported expectant mothers by encouraging them to have a trusted person to be with them through the birthing process. Ironically, when it comes to support during the dying process, it has not been until recently that the need for a death midwife has become a profession. With hospice workers and death doulas, society is acknowledging that death is a part of life—a life event if you will—and not a medical event. If you have witnessed a death in a hospital setting versus in a hospice setting, you have seen the stark contrast of these two ways of being with death. Death is a process and when we can see it that way, we know more clearly what we need to prepare for that inevitable event.
Death doulas (a.k.a. soul midwives, death midwives), who provide compassionate care for the dying and their loved ones, are a growing profession. These dedicated people train to work with not only the dying person, but with their families as well. Death is a rite of passage, similar to childbirth when a soul is ready to enter the world. And just like childbirth, we need others to help us, to prepare, train, and go through the process of death with as much know-how and preparation as possible. Yet, this has not been the case in our society. Most deaths are relegated to the hospital or whisked away as soon as it occurs. Wouldn’t we feel more prepared for when death arrives if we have familiarized ourselves with what to expect, who we would like to have with us during the dying process, where we would like to be if we have a choice? To have a conscious death? We all need spiritual support as we face what is often seen as a frightening event. To be a soul midwife, or death doula, is just as valuable and necessary as the presence of a midwife at childbirth.
There is so much we can do to assist those in the dying process but most of us are at a loss as to what our role is when someone is dying. Do we cheer them on and tell them they’ll get better or can we be present enough to be with them as they know death is approaching? To just be and to witness the process? Would it bring comfort to the dying to have someone who is there to lend an ear, provide support, a compassionate presence—someone who holds a reverence for life, and an acceptance of death? Someone who can make a difference by acknowledging to the dying person that you know they are dying and are there to lend support, resting in loving awareness, in communion with the one who is dying?
“Working with the dying is like being a midwife for this great rite of passage of death. Just as a midwife helps a being take their first breath, you help a being take their last breath.” (Ram Dass & Mirabai Bush, 2018, Walking Each Other Home). How many of us have given this some thought? Have we thought about how we want to die? It’s a tough road to walk, isn’t it? The unknown scares us. Even if we do dare to embark on this path consciously, who would we share this conversation with and where would we start? Won’t others think we are being morbid if we start a conversation about needing this? What will it be like? What will we need? How can we know what will help us as we are dying? Who would we want with us to “walk us home”? Can we know what it is like to die?
So many unanswered questions, but we are fortunate that there have been many spiritual traditions that have done the leg work for us so that we are not totally in the dark. There are ancient texts we can consult and scientific research that has revealed different aspects of those questions we hold about death. Ancient texts, such as the Tibetan Book of the Dead, or the Egyptian Book of the Dead, both provide accounts of the death journey. In the Tibetan form, the term Bardo is used to describe the different levels of death through which we will traverse between this life and the next. As I mentioned before, the work of Kubler-Ross as well as Ray Moody provided some idea about what it is like to die and the dying process. Since then, consciousness research has grown and expanded through the work of so many: Charles Tart, Stanislav Grof, Fritja Capra, Michael Talbot, Joe Dispenza, Dean Radin and so many more.
Another area of research that can give us some idea of what to expect comes from research into Near Death Experiences (NDEs) by providing comforting, anecdotal evidence that consciousness does indeed survive bodily death. An NDE is the term used to describe when a person has clinically died (i.e., the heart has stopped and brain waves are no longer detected by conventional means), but has been resuscitated or spontaneously returns to the realm of the living. These near-death experiences have been reported throughout the world and through case studies we are learning that about 30% who have died and returned report having an NDE. Can NDEs inform us of what it will be like to die? Is it safe? What will we encounter? Is it like turning off a switch or does consciousness continue even when the body has died?
My former professor and mentor, Dr. Robert (Bob) Marrone, described in his book, Death, Mourning and Caring, that a near-death experience is a
“…loss of control of the body, and the mind is often experienced, as though the mind is taken to a special place, while the body is left behind. Movement of the mind occurs through darkness, or into a dark space, and then travels through a tunnel, or underpass filled with the bright light — a heavenly place filled with love and awe. Some people are allowed to enter the light, and some are not. The mind, then emerges into the bright light, where it is allowed to converse with people, or supreme being… in the midst of this light, escorts, in the form of angels or beings of light, accompany the mind in this phase of the near-death experience .”
Anita Moorjani wrote of her NDE in Dying To Be Me. Similar books, such as hers, have helped make the topic of death and dying a little more familiar for those on this side of death. These accounts tell us that there is nothing to fear and that death is perfectly safe. In fact, they serve as inspiration for how we can live our lives. She was greeted by her deceased father during her NDE, who assured her that she was perfect as she was and that his harshness and criticisms while he was alive were not reflective of his true feelings of love and pride he had for her. That had been the result of his cultural shaping.
She was able to let go of all the voices in her head that had told her she was not enough. After returning from her NDE, Morjani wrote that her feelings of guilt and shame that she felt before she “died” were released. She felt that her shame and self-criticism had fed her cancer. After she awoke from her NDE, her stage 4 cancerous ulcers spontaneously began to heal rapidly. Her NDE had given her a new awareness of self-love and self-acceptance that she had not had before her “death.” She now lives her life quite differently from before her NDE, continuing to share her story and bringing hope to others.
As I have said before, life is “not a rehearsal.” Becoming more familiar with death paves a path for us that informs us of how we can live…NOW, while we are still embodied in our physical human body vehicle. We can’t keep putting off until “later” all the changes or adventures we hope to have in our lives. Can we learn to be in the NOW and live in the moment? Befriending death can give us the strength we need to live our lives to the fullest, to do the inner work that is required for us to truly free our authentic Self. Having lived with awareness, we can face our own death with courage and even some anticipation.
Feeling Called To Help
Too many people are left alone to die without the comfort of having someone hold their hand through the process…just being there, silent, as a witness to the transitional process of another’s soul. And what would we “do” if we are called to be that support person? Or should I say, how would we “be”? I’m not saying we all have to become hospice workers or death doulas, but when we are faced with the death of a loved one, what shall we do? Run and hide? Swim in denial? Avoidance or ambivalence? Is it possible to help ease the process for others when they are dying? How can we help? Will it make a difference to them? To you?
To consider this, we have to do our own inner work to face our inherent fear of death. Doing our own work allows us to help others. Can we just sit and be with the dying who may be too weak to talk or just not in the mood to talk? There are lessons to learn from this choice—for us and the dying person. It is my hope that by sharing two of my personal experiences with the dying, that you will feel emboldened to “walk another soul home.”
As they were dying, I have been in the presence of two important people in my life. The first was my mother-in-law, and the second was my own mother. I went through the death of my mother-in-law first, which probably helped to prepare me for the death of my own mother.
When my mother-in-law was dying, my husband and I knew that the inevitable was approaching because she was in hospice at that point and the nurses had called to let us know we needed to be there as soon as possible, because death was imminent. We rushed to get ready to go to the hospice center where she was. When we got there, I noticed when we entered her room, that she was breathing heavily as if she were panicking. I called out to her, “We’re here, Mom! You’re doing good! We’re here!“ Her breathing immediately calmed down, and she began to breathe normally as we stroked her forehead and spoke to her. I had bought some vanilla scented hand lotion which was in my purse, so I knew that vanilla can be calming and proceeded to apply some of the lotion to her hands. She was not conscious but I knew she could hear us and was aware of our presence. As time passed, the rest of the family arrived and as the hour of her death approached, we gathered around her and the hospice worker played soothing meditative music. My mother-in-law, Ruby, slipped away after a couple of breaths. Her absence could be felt. Her body was still there, but her presence was gone.
That was one of the most beautiful, significant experiences I have had in my life. After she slipped away, my husband spent some private time with his mother. He told me that he asked her, “Mom, I want you to show me a sign that you’re still with me.” Some weeks later we held a memorial for her. After her memorial, we left Mount Shasta and she truly did show us a sign. She visited us in the form of a rainbow as we were driving home through the Siskiyou Forest.
Most people will find this story hard to believe, but this happened to not just me, but also to my husband and his son. As we were driving home from the memorial, we saw a rainbow to our east in the distance. All of a sudden, as we continued to drive down the road, the “end“ of the rainbow moved quickly across the terrain racing to a spot that intersected the road we were on. I watched as one end of the rainbow traveled over the land until we reached a particular point where the “end” of the rainbow planted itself just to the right of the road in front of us so that we had to we drive right through it. I could actually see the “end of the rainbow” on the side of the hill that we passed. Impossible? Collective hallucination? We all three witnessed it. After that, I’ve never doubted that one CAN see the end of a rainbow. Crazy? Or Divine?
Having had this experience with the death of my mother-in-law, I thought of my own mother and how it was likely that she would die before I did. Over the years, my mom and I had engaged in many deep discussions about her life, including our thoughts on death. Early in that process I began recording our conversations and I would purposefully phrase and present questions to get her exploring and talking about her life. Having studied the literature on dying and death, I encouraged her to explore and consider the prospect of death and what it might be like. No doubt I embarked on that recording journey because of my background in psychology and consciousness research, and to this day I am thankful that I did. As part of those talks, I had assured my mother that if it was at all possible, I would be there with her when she died. I did not want her to be scared nor to feel alone. I was fortunate enough to be there when it the time came.
It was Christmas time 2018. My mom had not been feeling well and she was going downhill. By the end of the month she went to the ER because her back was hurting her. We thought she had a kidney infection. We were wrong. She was diagnosed with stage four cancer of the liver and lungs and she was given only days to live. I recall the doctor telling me, “It won’t be long.” My mom refused treatment and was ready to pass on from this plane of existence—ready to see her loved ones who had gone before her. My three brothers and I honored this and supported her decision. I stayed by her side 24-hours a day for the last five days of her life.
My mom and I spent New Year’s Eve together in her hospital room. The nurses had set up a single room for us. Throughout the night, I checked on her to see if she needed anything and advocated for her with the nurses (angels in disguise). I really wanted to talk to her that night, but when I asked her if she wanted to talk, she said, “No.” Although I needed the comfort of talking with her through this, I had to respect her wishes, so I cried quietly in the bathroom while she slept. I was losing my dear precious mom and as you can imagine I had to muster the strength to be there for her and to help ease her through the process. This was about her…not me.
We set up her apartment so that she could die in her own home. With my oldest brother, Roy, and Joanne, my sister-in-law, and a home health care person, we all tended to her needs for those last few days of her life. It was a surreal time. The first night home she sat up talking as if we were having a slumber party. She recounted some travels she had been on and seemed happy and cheerful. Then the next day she was not communicative. All I could do was talk to her, comfort her as best I could, and encourage her that she was doing well and to look for the light and head towards that.
Hours before she passed on, she did respond to me out of her coma-like state when I asked her, “Mom. Watch over me, ok?” With her eyes still closed, she exhaled and said, “I will.” My heart melted. I asked her to send me a sign that she was okay and suggested that it should be a butterfly. She exhaled again and softly said, “Ok.” Precious words. When her time came, the hospice caretaker turned her on her right side. A little while after that, she opened one of her eyes, shut it, a sweet smile appeared on her lips and then her soul departed.
And did she ever send me that butterfly sign? Yes she did! She kept her promise and appeared as a Painted Lady butterfly, that swooped in from our left as my sister-in-law, Trisha, took a picture of my brothers and me in front of my mom and dad’s headstone! We only saw a butterfly fly away as the picture was being taken, but later when we were driving home, I wondered if the butterfly had been captured in one of the photos. It had been!!! Because of “Live Photos” on iPhones it showed a butterfly swoop in, fly over my mom’s name and landed on one of the orchids we had placed into the urns on either side of the headstone. She didn’t want to be left out of the picture. Sweet.
Luckily for me, I had decided long ago to make audio recordings of her sharing her memories and stories so that I could write about them with some accuracy one day. I so value my collection of audios of my mom talking about life and more. It’s a family treasure. I highly recommend to all of you who still have someone living that you treasure, to interview them, and get recordings of their stories — a living history if you will. You could even do videos. I wish I had done more of those. There is so much to learn from this storytelling. It also provides a sense of peace and continuity to life for having not only telling their story, but to have a witness to it all. I sense that recounting our stories provides an updated perspective to our lives that helps us to let some of those stories go. It is making peace with ourselves as a part of preparing for death.
And the grief that follows is a time to nurture yourself and to allow time to help your heart heal. Contrary to American ideals of “getting over it” in a short time, I feel that the Greeks were more astute about the grieving process. They expect that it will take more like five years to grieve. I agree. When we suffer loss, we have to allow for our new world to emerge and settle into a form that still includes our loved ones who’ve passed on. Our relationship to them changes into a more spiritual form and our communications become internal dialogues. It’s a new way of being for us and maybe that is why we need to allow ourselves at least five years to get our feet planted firmly on the ground again.
Namaste 🙏🏼
Music Credit Acknowledgment:
https://uppbeat.io/t/rahul-popawala/north-indian-alleys
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