As I drove home from work on a particularly blustery day, windows down and music blaring, I felt the cool yet strong wind rush into the car. I could have sworn something flew through the window, but I couldn’t see any evidence of it. When I pulled into the driveway, underneath the music, I heard a faint buzzing noise. Sure enough, in the cup holder was evidence that I'd indeed noticed a visitor.
A tiny bee buzzed about, rolling on her back and then onto her feet. I immediately took a photo to send to my friend whom I have a bee connection with; often a bee flies into my surrounding as a reminder to reach out to her. By the time I sent the image via text, I took notice of the bee's apparent struggle. I attempted to assist her departure by removing the extraneous objects that laid strewn in my cup holder: a few pennies, a bobby pin and an old hamsa keychain. Still, the bee couldn’t make her way out of the cupholder and onto her flight path to safety outside my soon-to-be smoldering hot car.
I tried with delicate care to help her, thinking by dangling the keychain she could grab hold and be air lifted out of her trap. I finally submitted to using my fingers despite the tiny fear of somehow being stung as a helped this creature. How ironic that I feared being stung by an animal as I tried to save her life. I quickly overcame the fear and made contact. When I lifted her out of the cupholder and onto the concrete driveway outside the car, she struggled just as she had inside.
Helpless, I tried to get her right side up since she continued to roll onto her back. Within a few minutes, I began to realize that she may not survive. I felt responsible and sad for this innocent creature’s looming fate. I gave her whatever comfort I could as she struggled to move about—cupping my hand over her while blocking the sun rays from her dying body. I watched as she took her last few breaths and wished her peace in her next journey.
The Transformative Power of Death
How my heart has changed to feel such compassion and empathy for even the smallest living being is a direct reflection of my own transformation (of which death has played a significant role). It wasn’t lost on me that my entire day was setting stage for this moment, providing one foreshadowing event after another. First, the post by psychic medium James Van Praagh that read “There is no pain in death.” Soon after, a conversation about a woman going through the death process (and my friend’s commentary on the necessary preparation to face death with more grace, acceptance and ease.)
I took in these bits and pieces of the day and pondered the meaning behind them. Surely the synchronicity of these seemingly unrelated events were beyond coincidences. The finale would “be” a dear Bee flying into my car to hone in on the lesson of the day. She graciously gave her life so that I would have further insight into death and at the same time fully comprehend the nudges that I was receiving from Heaven.)
death: the ultimate fear
I’d recently heard a tidbit of wisdom from thought leader and author Neale Donald Walsch that all fear stems from the fear of death; if we overcome the fear of death, we have conquered the ultimate fear and discovered a way to truly live while we are here.
Fear’s main role in our lives (since the beginning of time) is to keep us alive; any fear stemmed from the necessity to fight for our life. We scavenged for our food, fought off predators and went hungry if we didn’t successfully gather or even kill our next meal.
This was how the ego was intended to operate; each and every fear nowadays comes from the fear of death. We simply try to remain alive, yet in this day and age we have the conveniences that keep us alive rather easily (with the exception of most of third world counties). We get along so long as we listen to and heed our ego’s judgements of what is safe and how to tend to our basic needs for survival.
If fear of death is removed, not only do we have a more enjoyable life while living, we allow the death process to be a beautiful phase into our next journey to our permanent home.
death and birth: beauty just the same
As a hospice volunteer, I learned the correlation between birth and death and how to honor the sacred passageway from this life to the next (or vice versa). If we are prepared adequately and honor the death process with the dignity it deserves, there truly is no pain at the moment of death. There might be excruciating levels of pain leading up to death (which is why hospice is a blessing and has an overall goal of mitigating pain), but the moment we cross over from this realm to the next is a beautiful and thrilling entry into pure and unconditional love—a return to what we once knew and may have lost over the course of our life.
The pain of departing from loved ones is a struggle in the process of death; with faith that believes we’ll never truly part, the process of death can be more easily accepted by both the living and the dying.
Once our will is surrendered and the acceptance of death has begun, we take one step after another into the eternal side. As in birth, there is a canal that takes us from darkness to light. This process can be excruciating; so long as we submit to the process and accept that what is on the other side is our next adventure, it’s far easier to walk into the light of day or the light of Heaven (whichever we are called into).
While I stood over this bee, granting her the dignity of a comfortable death, I couldn’t help but recall the significance of this process (and how many aren’t granted the privilege of having loved ones at their death bed).
Nearly two years ago, with very little preparation and a bit of hesitation, I signed up to be an 11th hour hospice volunteer (somehow thinking this would be a great service to provide). Little did I know I’d soon be at the bedside of my own sister’s 11th hour. Looking back, the nudges that led me to become a hospice volunteer were inspired by being in the midst of so many sick people during my sister's cancer treatment.
the grief after the storm
The mysterious nature behind death is making itself much clearer through my myriad experiences (and for a purpose no less). I’d taken a needed hiatus from hospice work as I processed the death of my sister and mourned my loss.
The more I learn about death, the more I see that grief is a personal experience. It’s more about us and our love for someone than it is about mourning the fact that they died. They are in a place that far exceeds the limitations of life—a place where they know absolute freedom, peace and love. While it seems like an unfair fate (especially when it involves someone like my sister who had so much more life to live), it’s really about the years they already lived and the grand adventure they are embarking upon as they leave this life and return to their eternal one in heaven.
When I eventually got over the pain, frustration, anger and resentment surrounding my sister’s circumstances and untimely exit from my life, I got to focus on the love that lingered underneath the fear. The fear that said her fate is unfair. The fear that says it should’ve ended differently. The fear that says she’s no longer with me.
The lies of fear finally faded once they had their way with me; they only truly left when I let love conquer those lies. I fixed my eyes on love—onto the truth that knows exactly where she is and how her life has transitioned into a new adventure (one that means she’s happy, free and at peace). Why should my life be any different? That’s the message Kali sent me over a year’s time: why cry when I can laugh? Why stop living on her behalf when I’m blessed to be here still? Why focus on separation when I can tune into her clear presence that is all around me?
Truly the pain has to be felt (oh how it's been felt); at some point, with the truth in my heart, I must carry on to my former existence of joy, happiness and excitement.
the purpose in loss
As death continues to be my biggest teacher, I can see how my experiences have been precursors to my purpose. That the piece of me (ignorant as I may have been at the time) intuitively knew that sitting with someone as they die—much like I did with my friend, the Bee—is an incredible way to transform my pain into purpose and serve others with the respect, love and dignity they deserve as they enter into Heaven (especially if they don’t have the blessing of knowing where it is they are heading).
The nudges of the day confirm what I’ve long since felt but wasn’t prepared to do: I have a calling to help those with the death process (both the living and the dying)—whether it be returning to hospice work, being a LifeGuide for those experiencing the death of a loved one or sharing my wisdom and awareness around death.
We can all benefit from loosening the grip of fear that ultimately directs our life so that love can return as the reigning force (as it should be and always is in Heaven and on earth). So, thank you Bee. Thank you nudges from God. Thank you, Kali, for being my sister and greatest teacher.
And I thank you for being open to the truth so that you may fully live. There are days ahead and so you might as well live while you’ve alive (in love that is).