Beautiful Death: How I Learned to Hold Space

Death has always been fascinating to me. It’s the ultimate teacher. 

Having first experienced losing loved ones at a very young age, I formed a perception that is rooted in comfort yet continues to evolve. The transition from the physical body back into the soul realm evokes such a wide range of emotion in everyone touched by the experience, no matter the circumstances.

While the obvious defaults are sadness, grief and pain, there is also a beautiful release of memories that sum up the impact made by the person during their lifetime. A celebration of their soul, often accompanied by photos, heartfelt comments and storytelling, bring loved ones together. It’s such a vulnerable and beautiful moment that leaves an indelible imprint on those remaining in their bodies. 

In November 2018, my grandmother was dying after a battle with dementia. She was an incredibly resilient woman who had immigrated to the US from war torn Poland in the 1940s with her husband and young daughter. She was the epitome of a “tough cookie” but had a heart of gold and a laugh that filled a room, making you instantly feel welcome.

Two days before her passing, I went to say goodbye. The gift of a final visit was not lost on me; but, I was wildly unprepared for what would occur that afternoon.

Quietly, I entered the room knowing with certainty that this would be the last time I saw her alive. I sat on the edge of the couch where she was laying and talked gently while holding her hand, hoping that could hear me. 

Next, I sang to her and caressed her face and hair. It brought tears to my eyes but it was also a way to lift the energy in the room. She wasn’t a singer, but she loved to hear me sing. “Bet, you have the voice of an angel”, she would say. I did what I could to bring her comfort.

Suddenly, as if someone else was in the room, I felt pulled backward; instinctively, I knew it meant that I needed to change my positioning and face her body straightaway. 

Rearranging myself in this new direction, I sat up straight, cleared my throat and mind, closed my eyes and extended my hands over her abdomen area. I called in my higher power to guide me through this ritual that I would later come to know as energy healing, or Reiki. 

I took several deep breaths and entered a state of being that was void of thought and emotion.

What happened next, I will never forget. 

The room, while it was on a lower level, became flooded with light. Bright, white light. My entire body felt warm, as if I was a lantern radiating heat during a frigid expedition. I held the space for as long as I could until the light went away and then returned to my physical body. The energy, the peace, the lightness that remained was so intense; it was true love. 

As I sat filled with a mixture of disbelief, joy and sadness, I grabbed her hand and she gently squeezed it. This validated that she not only knew I was there, but had felt the energy. She moved her body and her bowels, signaling that she was relaxed and ready for her next adventure.

She died 2 days later. 

I had not done any hands on Reiki at that time, it would be 5 years before I would take my first class; but, I am a born lightworker. I was guided to offer her peace, comfort and love. It was a moment of healing for both of us that remains a beacon on my journey.

Her life was celebrated joyously and as we laid her to rest, the gentle snowfall in the cemetery felt like cold kisses on my warm skin. She was finally at peace and reunited with her loved ones in spirit while remaining alive in memories and her loving legacy.

Her soul visits me in birds every day and when I hear their happy morning song, I choose to believe that she is leading the chorus. 

My grandmother Maria and I at a holiday gathering in 2012.