The Death of Paternal Grandparents

Believe it or not, this was a beautiful thing to be a part of. Both my Grandparents passed away in February, just 11 days between them, which is mind-boggling when you take into account they were both in separate care home rooms and suffering with dementia, with seemingly no awareness of the others existence. But, I believe after 60+ years of marriage, you are going to be connected in metaphysical ways I won't even try to explain or understand.

The reason I say it was beautiful to be a part of their passing, is because I got to say goodbye, visiting them both just a week before they passed on their deathbeds. Now, I am not going to lie, it was initially shocking to see the frail, almost lifeless bodies that barely resembled the grandparents I remember playing with us as a young child. But, after getting past that initial shock I was able to see past the gaunt faces and glazed eyes and see the inner child within. Surely, my mind thought, as you get so close to the end of your life here on earth there is very little that you actually need. I saw them like a newborn baby - helpless, unable to move, eat, go to the toilet or even speak, and this is where my mind went - The beginning and the end of life are very similar - sure one is more cute than the other, but at the very core of it, it is the embodiment of pure surrender. Totally dependent on others.

"Well, what does a baby need?" I thought. Safety, security, connection and love! Our earliest and most primal fear is the fear of abandonment. If we are unable to look after ourselves, we must be totally vulnerable. And so I set about creating a space of safety and love. I let my grandfather know that he is safe and that he is loved.

What more could you need at the end of life?

I shut the careroom door, shutting out the noise and mayhem of the other sick and fearful patients. I turned off the stark strip lighting. Closed the curtains. Lit some candles. Threw my favourite shamanic ceremonial blanket over him and began to cleanse the energy of the room. Who knows how many people had died in this room before? Who knows if my Grandparents had DMT flowing from their brain, with two feet on the other side of the veil. Who knows what they may or may not have being feeling or seeing. My gut instinct told me to treat this like a ceremony, like a mushroom trip or ayahuasca ceremony, create a safe space and nurturing energy that would be harmonious with a "good trip". The room was converted from stark and hostile to relaxed and loving with just a few small acts.

With some soothing solfeggio frequencies playing, the smell of palo santo in the air and the flickering light of candles dancing, the sacred space was created. I climbed into the bed with my Granddad, who I sensed needed my attention more then Nan. The reason for this is Nan's dementia had been a much longer and more gradual disease, in many ways I had already seen my Nan leave this life and I had already mourned her for that. Also, she seemed a lot more at peace with where she was, smiling and cosy. Where as Granddad looked scared, reaching out towards the sky and seemingly fighting a losing battle against death.

I am fortunate enough to know a couple of death doulas, and had been given some advice via my wife as I drove the 3 hours north to go see them. I was ready to help guide them "towards the light". Now, the drive to Birmingham was pretty spontaneous. I had only seen my Grandparents twice in the flesh since lockdown and only a dozen or so phone calls. But, the previous year, I had been to an ayahuasca ceremony, where I was shown very clearly that my Grandad is going to resist "letting go" of life, because he isn't sure how he will be remembered. The word "Legacy" kept repeating time and time again. I knew last year I needed to let my Grandad know all the wonderful ways I'll remember him and the legacy that he will leave behind. How he lives on in me, my siblings and cousins. How we all have a love and affinity with Nature. How we all feel right at home in a caravan or tent. And how we all find it so easy to laugh and enjoy ourselves. All because of our experiences with him.

So this is what I did, I let him know, time and time again, how he will be remembered, what impact he has left on us and how he will live on in his great, great grandchildren. He squeezed my hand, he played footsie with me in the bed, he moved what little parts of him he could to let me know he was hearing me. In many ways I wish I had told him all of this sooner, while he was still mobile and able to communicate. I regret not writing him a letter which I was guided to do. But, I also trust that this was the perfect time to let him know. Hence the spontaneous drive up north. I did the same for Nan later that night, and spent the following morning around their beds with my aunties and uncles, sister and dad. All who had done so, so much more than I ever could for them, with the years of caring, organising, visiting and loving them. We were all saying our goodbyes, letting them know it's okay to go.

That day I was asked to speak at the funeral, to put a short eulogy together, I thought what an honour that would be. Legacy was the word I wanted to focus on, how they both live on in us all and even my own children and grandchildren will feel their loving kindness, good humour and sense of adventure when we sit in the awning of our caravan, in a field somewhere, dunking biscuits in milky tea and playing in the grass. I love my Grandparents, they were nothing but positive in my life. They never failed to make me feel special, playing close attention to who I was/am and what I said. This feeling of specialness is what I intend to make my own grandchildren feel one day.

The funeral was a wonderful time to see my family, to swap stories, celebrate and laugh in their honour. My eulogy was a blubbering mess, barely saying a fraction of what I planned, but it was the emotion that needed to be released, and I let it flow. My cousins did a much better job of holding it together! And now both of my grandparents have a space on my altar at home, I have some old brass ornaments and a 100 year old clock to find a home for. They also have a permanent place in my mind and heart. And if they want to, they can join my spirit team and keep an eye on me from the ether. I may from time to time check in with them both when I sit at my alter, and I am always open to some ancestral wisdom from the other side! Thanks for reading this beautiful moment in my life. Take care,

Joe x

p.s. my first ever caricature drawing was of Grandad. I felt drawn to do this after my ayahuasca ceremony last year and wanted to let him know of his legacy.