This Beltane season has been beautifully liminal for me, for several reasons. I'm holding that liminal space in my body and breath.
Last night around 9 p.m. my beloved grandmother passed beyond the veil. She was 98 years old. She died holding the hands of both her daughters, my mother and my aunt, who talked her over and beyond. It was a peaceful death.
She had been dying for several weeks. I got to see her two weeks ago, to tell her I loved her and to hear her say that she loved me. My grandma was a formidable woman, someone who taught me unconditional love, the kind of love I can feel in my bones. Dying, she was radiant with light. I held her hands, then her feet. I watched her face. I sensed the presence around her, knew that our ancestors were holding her, waiting for her to join them. I expect she'll be one of the first I see when it's my turn to cross over the threshold again.
About a week ago, she had a vision of the Mother--for her, Mary. She called out, "Mother!" At her bedside, my mom said, "is it your mother?" Grandma shook her head. "Is it Jesus's mother?" Grandma nodded. My mother was slightly appalled, also amused; Lutherans don't believe in the divinity of Mary. But I know Whom she saw.
One of the last things she said was, "life goes by too fast."
Blessings, safe passage, and safe return, beloved one.