If you would indeed behold the spirit of death, open your heart wide unto the body of life.
For life and death are one, even as the river and the sea are one.
I have come to understand that I am like water. Just as streams of water find their way over and around obstacles to rejoin the sea of life, I find my path in life and flow with it; and when I become vapor or mist, I will return to earth as rain does and be born again. Then, if I learn what I am here to learn, I will help to teach others how to become cocreators of a world filled with faith, hope, and love for all things.
Every life is like a candle, and the length of the candle doesn’t depend on our age but on what we are scheduled to do on this planet. Our job while we are here is to illuminate the path for our self and others — not to worry about how much time we have left, but to get the job done. We need to burn up, rather than burn out before our time. As George Bernard Shaw said, “Life is no brief candle to me, it is a sort of splendid torch which I’ve got hold of for a moment, and I want to make it burn as brightly as possible before handing it on to future generations.”1
When a person develops a life-threatening illness such as cancer, family members also become afflicted by the experience, which they are rarely prepared for. Not only must they deal with grief from the expectation of loss, but also they will be faced with caring for the dying person while the latter undergoes treatment, a person whose needs can impose demands on many levels. Unless the family has already lived through and learned from a previous loss, this period of transition is not something you can prepare for, in the sense that your feelings and experiences will happen when they happen and not before.
Financial responsibilities, role changes, and physical, mental, and emotional energy demands all have the potential to become overwhelming at this time. People who deal with illness in the family only on an intellectual level may appear to be coping well, but ignoring their own feelings and needs can send them to the sickbed, too. Statistics show that the people who care for chronically or terminally ill patients frequently succumb to illness or death before, or shortly after, the patient dies, because they stop taking care of their own physical and emotional needs.
Self-care has to be a priority, and this can happen in many ways. Accepting help from others, taking breaks, joining support groups, enjoying laughter clubs or funny movies, eating well, maintaining some way of listening to the inner voice, talking to God, and letting God talk back — these are all lifesaving measures that help people through the stages of letting their loved ones go while caring for them as long as they are alive. The song Rock Me to Sleep, written by Tom Hunter, and which I mentioned in chapter 9, says it well in the chorus: “Tonight I’d like you to rock me to sleep; I’d like you to sing me a song; I’m tired of doing things all by myself, and I’m tired of being so strong.”2 Looking after yourself stems from self-love, because if you do not value yourself the experience will become self-destructive and will not be life enhancing for anyone involved.
The important thing for caregivers to remember is to seek help before a disaster awakens you. You do not have to become strong at the broken places. You can learn how to handle the difficult elements of life just as a tree survives changes in the weather. When a patient is doing creative therapies to deal with their disease, family members can do the same, getting as much benefit as the patient does by working with their own unconscious through the use of imagery, drawings, and other forms of creative expression, such as playing music or journaling. It helps family members to identify what they fear and how they feel, so they can seek help through grief counseling or support groups. The hospice movement also provides support for family members, including counseling for up to a year after the patient dies, and many organized religions and churches offer similar help.
When a terminally ill patient is working with drawings, he who no longer finds his body an enjoyable place to be, and whose will to live no longer exists, will often draw his impending death without realizing he is doing so. This may take the form of a purple butterfly or balloon rising into the sky. Another sign may be that his drawings done over a period of time are showing lighter, fading colors, alerting the family that it may be time to talk about it.
Family members may feel uncomfortable talking with the dying person about the end of life and afterward, but it can be very helpful for both if they do so. Open discussion on these matters by asking the patient questions such as “What are you thinking?” and “How are you feeling?” Bringing up the subject is okay. If the patient doesn’t want to discuss it, he’ll shut you off. Creative imagery can also be used to open discussion. Asking the patient to close his eyes and imagine how he would feel in a totally white room usually gets a positive response from those who need a rest or are ready for a spiritual transition. Those who are not ready to die are bored with the image of white walls and want to leave that room or decorate it.
Speaking up about your own needs and feelings regarding the upcoming transition is also appropriate when the patient is willing to listen. You can speak about your needs and see if he will speak about his, and if he does, you end up coaching and helping each other. When family members get over their fear of discussing the future with the person who is dying, and that person is ready to talk about it, wonderful things can happen. It is in these moments that our immortality is created.
A few years ago, Will was living in an AIDS hospice in Sacramento when his body systems began to shut down. My friend Jean, a volunteer grief counselor at the hospice, suggested to Will’s brother that now was the time to ask Will any questions he might have, such as “How will I know you are okay after you’ve gone?” and “How will I know when you are with me?”
Two weeks later, as Jean prepared to go to Will’s memorial service and funeral, she heard someone at her front door, but when she opened it no one was there. On the doorstep, she found three tail feathers from a blue jay. Jean picked them up and put them in her purse after admiring the perfect, striking blue feathers. As she drove to the church, she turned on the radio, and a symphony she had never heard was playing. It had a beautiful melody and playful lightness that lifted her feelings of sadness over Will’s death. When the piece finished playing, the radio announcer said that the symphony, by Ottorino Respighi, was called The Birds.
Later, when the memorial service was over, Will’s brother approached Jean. “Thank you for your advice,” he said. “The day you talked with us, I asked my brother how I would know when he was with me after he died, and he told me he’d send a bird, a beautiful, bright blue bird. He even laughed and said that he would make the bird talk to me. This morning when I walked to my car, a blue jay landed at my feet, started flapping its wings, and screamed at me, so there was no way I could ignore it. I suddenly remembered Will’s promise to send me a bright blue, talking bird, and the moment I realized it was Will, the bird flew off. I’ve felt his presence with me ever since.”
Jean pulled the feathers out of her purse and gave them to Will’s brother. Then she told him about the noise at her front door and the symphony on the radio. As they stood there talking, Will’s mother approached holding a large bouquet of bright blue iris. The flowers were the same shade of blue as the jay’s tail feathers. “I don’t know who sent these,” she said. “Just as we were leaving the house, a florist’s van pulled up and they handed me this bouquet. They forgot to include a card.”
Will’s brother exchanged glances with Jean. “They’re from Will,” he said to his mother. “He’s telling us he’s okay.”
If you are skeptical, let me share some of my personal experiences and what ultimately convinced a skeptical scientist like me that consciousness does not cease to exist even though a person’s body has died. When I was speaking to support groups for parents whose children had died, I heard many stories that they did not feel safe sharing with most people.
One was told to me by a woman whose son had died. His favorite bird was a seagull. She said, “I was driving on the parkway one winter when a seagull landed in the road in front of me. I could hear my son saying, ‘Mom, slow down.’ I stopped and the gull flew off. I started to move ahead again, slowly, and as I came around a turn in the highway, there was a sheet of ice. Many cars had already collided with one another after skidding on the ice. If I hadn’t slowed down when I heard my son’s voice, I would have skidded into them, too.”
A father told me of his son who had died and who loved butterflies. The summer after his son’s death, the father was walking in the woods near his Connecticut home when a beautiful, enormous butterfly began to follow him wherever he went. He felt it was his son coming back to help him deal with his grief. When he got home he looked through his son’s books to identify the butterfly that followed him, and he found that the species existed only in South America.
Our cancer support group was meeting, and one woman mentioned that her daughter had been murdered. She shared this because she felt it was related to her becoming ill. Then she went on to say that her daughter loved birds, and that at her younger sister’s outdoor wedding a bird had landed in the tree and interrupted the wedding with its loud call. Everyone at the wedding said to her, “Your daughter’s here.” As she finished telling us the story, a bird flew into the open window, and of course we reacted as they had at the wedding. In all the years we had been in that room, no bird had even landed on the windowsill, let alone entered the room.
Several times while I have been lecturing, insects have flown around my shaved head while I stood on the stage speaking. Usually I wave at them once to see what their intentions are. If they remain after a wave, I know they are looking for a warm, loving place to land and renew themselves. I explain this to the audience so they are not distracted by the insect sitting on my shaved head while I continue to speak. When the insect is a wasp, the audience is naturally concerned, but from my communication with the wasp, I know I have nothing to fear. I have learned to listen to what they have to say, even though they are not speaking in words. Their thoughts are received by me and mine by them when I can keep my mind quiet and free of turbulence, like a still pond.
I show slides during my lectures, and one is a picture of a butterfly sitting on my wife’s shoulder. Many years ago a patient of mine went to the island of Kauai in Hawaii to die, because her mother lived there and she wanted to heal her relationship with her mother before she died. Several years later I was invited to speak and present a workshop in Kauai.
While staying on the island, Bobbie and I went shopping, and as we entered a store, Bobbie noticed a tiger swallowtail butterfly trapped in a large chandelier. It seemed confused by all the lights. Bobbie’s reverence for life made her feel the need to rescue it, so she climbed up on the counter and held out her hand to the butterfly. It flew onto her palm and she climbed down. We went outside to release it, but it wouldn’t leave. If we brushed it off one shoulder, it flew to the other or to her hand. So we stopped trying to brush it off and let it accompany us.
That night I said, “Bobbie, you need to let the butterfly go. We’ll crush it if we take it to bed with us.” She went out on the porch, returned, and said, “I brushed it off my shoulder.” I said, “Honey, now it’s sitting on your other shoulder.” We finally arranged a plate of sweet water on a kitchen counter, and the butterfly settled on the plate rim for the evening.
The next day after breakfast, it hopped onto Bobbie again. I put it in a paper bag and took it to the outdoor workshop with us, planning to use it as part of my talk about transformation and about life being a series of beginnings and not endings. After discussing the symbolism of the butterfly freeing itself from the caterpillar’s cocoon, I opened the bag and let our butterfly out to demonstrate. It spent the day overhead and did not leave until after the workshop finished. That butterfly had spent fourteen hours with my wife, not counting the workshop. Why? Who was it? My answer is that it represented the spirit and consciousness of my patient, and that was her way of thanking me and saying good-bye.
One woman wrote to me asking how to deal with her grief over the death of her parents. She said she just couldn’t get used to the fact they were no longer there. She still had her Mom’s number on her phone, and all she wanted to do was call her again and say all the things she never did.
I wrote back to her suggesting that she read my book Buddy’s Candle and learn what her parents wanted for her. The story helps people realize that consciousness doesn’t end, and we can still talk to our parents. You may hear them answer, or may have a dream in which they talk to you, or you might find meaningful things around the house and garden that make you realize they’re with you. Your loved ones do not want you to grieve and diminish your joy in living. They want you to enjoy the day and not have your tears put out their celestial candle of life.
I went through the same feeling this woman did, and yes, I used to dial my mom’s number, wanting to tell her something and forgetting that she had died. But now I have a portrait of my parents in the front hall and their photo on my computer as the screen saver, so they are always with me. You can create similar shrines around your house, too.
Children and teens who suffer the loss of a parent need help dealing with their grief. One teenage boy seemed to be coping well with the loss of his dad. His mother depended on him for helping with the other children, and he had never let her down. A year after his father died, however, he suddenly started acting out and skipping school. His grades suffered, and he quit participating in his favorite sports. Suspecting this was a delayed reaction to losing his dad, the boy’s mother enrolled him in a grief therapy group for teens. They listened to music, made drawings, and talked about their feelings. The boy never said much in the group until one day when the other kids called him on it. They asked him what he was holding back, because he always seemed so angry with them and wouldn’t open up.
The boy finally told them that about a year after his dad died, he had picked up the mail, and a pamphlet from their church was included in it. On the back were listed the church board members, one of whom had been his father, but somebody had crossed his dad’s name off with a black felt-tip pen. “When I saw that black mark over Dad’s name, it really hit me — he’s dead,” said the teen as tears started rolling down his cheeks. “I was so angry. After everything Dad did for the church, somebody had picked up a pen and blacked out his name like it didn’t matter, like he’d never existed.” The other kids listened quietly and did not try to stop him from crying, for they had learned that healing tears were what he needed. Afterward, when they talked with him he seemed much more relaxed and ready to join the group. That was the beginning of his journey through the grief, and his mom reported that his attitude improved and his grades at school went back up again.
When you lose somebody, celebrate your love for them and theirs for you. Keep the dialogue open about the person who died, especially with your kids, so they don’t think their loved one has been forgotten or crossed off. Remind the kids that the person is perfect again, and they can still share their thoughts and feelings with them; the loved one’s spirit will know. The only thing in this life that is immortal is love, and love is your bridge to this individual forever.
I have no problem sharing with you that I have heard the voices of dead patients and family members speaking to me. I have also had mystics bring me messages from my dead patients and family members, and in doing so these mystics have used those individuals’ names and characteristic expressions when talking.
One last personal story: Elisabeth Kübler-Ross, as I mentioned, was a very good friend and a teacher of mine. She got me started talking to spirits, and that gave me the courage to say in the operating room, to a patient whose heart had stopped, “It’s not your time yet. Come on back.” His heart started beating again and he survived.
After my folks died, my mystic friend, who does not know my family at all, called me and said, “Your folks are together again and very happy. They are being shown around by a lady who likes chocolate and cigarettes. Do you know who that is?” Before I could respond she said, “It’s Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. She’s showing your folks around.”
So live and learn from your experience and do not let your beliefs close your mind to the truth about life.
Have a meaningful conversation with someone you love. Make it a non-confrontational experience by asking this person two questions: “What animal do you most admire?” and “What attributes does the animal have that capture your admiration?” Listen to his answers, and you can even write them down. When your loved one finishes, explain that the animal is not the significant factor, but that the attributes he described are, because these are this person’s own best attributes. Following this revelation, observe where the conversation goes.
You can also ask your loved one what animal he would most like to have in his house. Ask the same question about which of this animal’s attributes capture his admiration. When the person is finished answering, explain that he has described his perfect mate or partner.
When I was trying to help one of my patients develop self-esteem, I tried these questions on her. When she answered, “I hate pets and killed my canary,” I knew I had my work cut out for me.