Document Type

Article

Publication Date

2020

Abstract

On January 6th at approximately 5:12 am, my head was lying on the pillow next to my dad’s face and my arm was across his chest holding him, and he had just died.

Then out of his mouth, just as it happened when my mother died, came two sweet long exhaling breaths of air, the last of his life. And with those two long breaths something shifted in me. I knew it, but I didn’t understand it. I knew that something holy and mystical happened for him and for me, and this time, I wanted to embrace it and let it shape me. When my mom died fourteen years earlier, I did not take time to learn this art of grieving, and I still suffer spiritually and emotionally because of it.

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