I woke up suddenly, wide awake from a deep sleep. The energy in the bedroom was electric. The room felt “full” and alive and pulsating with energy. In one quick move, I jumped up from the mattress pad on the floor, my temporary makeshift bed this past week, and just stood there taking it in. The room felt like it was alive and it was exhilarating, and I was energized.

I looked at the clock. It was just 3:30 am. The house was quiet, no noise. Only the sound of my husband’s short shallow breaths. The nightlight lit up Andy’s face on the bed, I could see his chest moving up and down. His breathing was shallow, but even. His eyes were closed as they had been for the last 2 days.

In those moments I just knew today was the day he would make his transition. He would leave today, very soon. I felt the energy in our room was a beautiful Presence, ready to welcome him back home. There was a feeling of peace, joy, and celebration as well as pure “aliveness” and it filled our bedroom.  I stood there, taking it in. I felt very calm, it was so wonderful to feel this Presence and know we were not at all alone. I understood beyond the shadow of a doubt that he would not be alone for a second. That the “Shining Ones” were ready and waiting to lead him through the veil that separates the physical from the non-physical realms.

Pulling up the chair by the side of the bed I sat, simply being present with him and the Presence. I reached out, putting my hands over his. It was so unbelievably peaceful and joyful.  In the face of the certainty of Andy’s physical death, I felt so much Life around us. The room was Alive and a Quickening was happening.  There aren’t the right words to describe what it felt like!

I spoke out loud. Telling him how much I loved him. I listed so many things for which I am grateful to him. I said some prayers. I thought about our life together. 35 years of marriage. 6 children, 5 grandchildren. So very much. The memories flooded in, came, and went, pouring through my consciousness. We’d had quite a ride. There was so much to remember. Lastly, I thought of how we came to this moment in time. 3:30 am on January 16^, 2022.

19 months ago, in June of 2020 Andy was healthy and strong. At least we thought so. No known health conditions. Working and running our business full time. Gardening and fishing. All the things. One Saturday in June he came into the house from his garden where he’d been planting potatoes and told me,

“I don’t feel well. Something is wrong with me, and I don’t know what it is.”

He laid down on the sofa and fell asleep. 4 weeks and 4 ER visits later, we had a diagnosis. He had a very aggressive form of bone marrow cancer, and it didn’t look good. In a few short days, he became disabled from a spinal infection and could no longer walk unassisted. Over the next 18 months we tried various treatments from holistic to traditional chemotherapy, to new drug therapies. He became blood transfusion dependent. In November of 2021 he made the choice to end treatment. He said he wanted to be at home and die with his family around him. And so, he withdrew from treatment. He no longer received blood transfusions and our family came home and surrounded him. Our oldest son and his wife and 2 little kids came back to NY from Oregon and stayed. Our daughter in New Mexico came home and stayed. Our kids in Colorado and Arizona came and said good-bye. Our oldest daughter brought her 3 daughters from their home in Pennsylvania many times over the next 2 months. My sisters and their daughters came and went from Connecticut and Rhode Island, several times. Andy’s brother came every evening, for 2 months to sit and talk with him and rub his feet. It was sad but also incredibly healing for our family. We grew closer. We realized just how lucky we are and blessed to be a family and go through an experience like this together. As he grew weaker, our family connections grew stronger.

We took turns sitting by his bedside. He stopped eating and slept more and more. Hospice came and went daily. His 60^th birthday came and went. Christmas came and went, then New Years.

One of the last conversations he and I had before he stopped talking was about who he wanted to see and meet once he arrived on the other side. We even planned a special sign he could send me, private, known only to the two of us. (He did send me that sign through a medium about 3 months after he left!). I told him it was ok to go, we’d be ok. He told me that he was afraid he’d miss me, even with all the cool people over there he was planning on meeting. We cried and held each other.

I thought about our kids, and how I grateful I was for them. Putting their lives on hold and being with us for these last 2 months.

As I sat by the bed this January morning, letting the memories flow and listening to his breathing,  I cried a little, and then was immediately comforted by the incredible Presence with us. The Presence that did not judge.  Simply comforted and vibrated Love, Peace and Joy, and Life.  I dried my tears. I felt in such a powerful way that we were not alone at this moment, we  never were alone, and we never will be left alone. It was so real, that Presence. The Shining Ones. The vibrating Love in that room and in my heart.

Soon my practical side kicked in and I thought that I ought to prepare the room so it would be beautiful for his passing. I folded the makeshift mattress I had been sleeping on and moved it out. I tidied up, dusted, and got out clean linens. I called the hospice nurse and asked her to come early. I texted Andy’s sister and asked her to go buy flower bouquets and bring them to the house so there would be fresh flowers around us. I called his mother and brother to come say good bye.

3 of our 6 grown children were home. We surrounded the bed, we played his favorite songs and talked and laughed and cried.  Our 2-year-old grandson and 6 month old granddaughter came in and out of the room. Our dog was there, at the foot of the bed. Our 3 children that could not be home were on video chat throughout the day – joining us in our songs and conversation. Andy’s 90 year old mother sat by his side, holding his hand. His brother was there too.

At 3:30, exactly 12 hours from the moment I woke up feeling the Presence Andy took his last breath, surrounded by his family. He transitioned the same day as his own father had 13 years earlier.  He died at home, with us, in the Presence, as he wished it to be. It was sacred and sad and beautiful all at the same time.

I looked up and saw his spirit above the bed. Behind him were his dad and a family friend that had passed years ago. Behind them were so many others, a whole welcoming committee.  As I looked up at them and breathed in I felt the exhilarating energy all around us again, swirling, vibrating, alive. The Presence. There was no death here, only LIFE. Andy held out his hands to me and grinned.

Then, he was gone, and I was back looking down at his body in the bed, seeing my children, hearing the soft sobbing of his mother. We comforted each other as best we could. It felt unreal. We knew it would happen, and yet it still came as a shock when the breath simply stopped.

Over the next few hours family and close friends came and paid their respects. A very close and dear friend came and helped me wash, dress and anoint his body. The final act of respect we can offer the physical form of our loved one. We both noticed how his expression changed and took on a look of regal peace. I had heard of this happening after death, but it was so remarkable to see it with my own eyes.

Then the undertakers came and left. And the house was quiet and still. My job as his care giver was finally over, forever. Exhausted and completely empty, I cried myself to sleep. I slept, blessed, deep, releasing sleep.

Today it is 9 months since he made his transition.

I miss his physical presence every day. Some days it hurts so much it’s a physical pain in my body. Before his death I didn’t understand that grief can be a searing, physical pain. Like a knife turning in your heart. Or a horrible clenching in your stomach causing nausea. A headache that can’t let up. A hard lump in your throat, constricting your airway. Grief is a part of the human experience, and most likely we will all experience it in our lifetime. It’s part of the process of being in human form and loving in human form. But grief offers us a gift if we are willing to accept it.

Losing our loved one provides us with the opportunity to raise our awareness above the human physical form. It’s a blessing in disguise, offering us the choice to move “up” and find the new energetic frequency of our loved one.

I can experience Andy’s nonphysical presence every single time I raise my awareness. I am sad when I look for him where he was (here, in physical from) but when I elevate my awareness to the nonphysical reality, I can sense him, hear him, and be present with him again.  It’s not like being with him in the way I was so used to, and comfortable with, in physical form. Instead, he’s showing me a new way to BE, a new way to LOVE. It’s challenging.  Some days I just want it the way it used to be. That was familiar and comfortable to me. Now, I must stretch a bit. Elevate, Expand, Surrender, Merge with a higher consciousness. It’s always available, I just have to remember, the presence is above me at every moment!

All our loved ones that transition before we do offer us this opportunity. Will we allow ourselves to be consumed by our grief or will we expand our consciousness to meet them where they are now?