It’s Only a Transition…

The Crankee Yankee and I have lived in the house in which he grew up since 2007. At that time, his mother was in home hospice, and we had moved in with her to help care for her. A lovely, wonderful, kind, funny and amazing woman, she was a pleasure to be with even in her last days. When she passed away, we were with her in her bedroom, holding her hands. Just looking at her calm and serene face, we knew that she had moved on peacefully to join all those who loved her and had been waiting for her.

Eventually, we moved into the house to stay. When my mother went into home Hospice care in 2015, Dad and I helped care for her. We had fabulous nurses from Hospice and wonderful friends who came by with meals and flowers, and who visited with Mom. Her death was a slow and gradual process, and she passed on peacefully in the bedroom she had so lovingly designed.

A year and a half later, when Dad was having trouble negotiating his house on his own, we moved him into our house. Our bedroom became his, and we slept in the living room right around the corner on the sofa bed. This way we could hear him if he needed anything during the night.

It was a blessing and a gift to have him with us, and he always said how warm and comfortable he felt and how glad he was to be with us. It got so that he mainly slept, and he too was in home Hospice care. He was comfortable and always had a smile on his face when we went in to see him. He was with us for a month and a few days, and I was privileged to be with him when he took his last breath.

Neither my mother-in-law, my mother or my dad feared death. They all looked back on lives lived well, and looked forward to the next transition. All of us felt that after our bodies die, we go back to where we came from, and will be with all of those we loved again. My mother-in-law, and my mom and dad viewed death truly as a transition—from our old and worn-out human bodies back to our spirit form from which we came.

The Crankee Yankee and I have had some laughs over things that others might find a bit unsettling:

  • We sleep in the room where the Crankee Yankee’s mother died.
  • I sleep on the pillow Mom used until the day she died.
  • We both sleep in the bed where my dad died.

Honestly, neither of us feel the least bit creeped out about any of this. My wonderful mother-in-law blessed the room in which she died. I feel comforted to rest my head on Mom’s pillow. We sleep soundly in the bed where my dad died. These things are sweet reminders of those three we loved so dearly.

And when you think about it, death really is only a transition. Just as we are born, learn to walk and talk, go to school, make friends, and go on to make our own lives; it is transition after transition. Why should the end of our human lives be any different?

It is only a transition, and who knows what wonders we will experience!

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