Tonight, as I remember the night exactly a year ago that we lost Peter, all I can do is write. It's just about the time of his death, and I feel kind of sad. Not heart-wrenching grief like I expected, just a quiet, introspective sadness in my heart.
He slowly faded over a period of about 6 hours. At the time, it was torture watching the monitors keep going down until alarms rang. Eventually we knew his soul had left us and all there was left to do was remove the life support.
As I think of it now, I think of him as a tiny light in the darkness, a little flame on a candle or a tiny star flickering in the sky. It got smaller and dimmer until it finally went out. I can think of it more peacefully because it truly was a beautiful sight.
Having also seen my grandma pass away, I can say that death is not the scary, torturous thing that most people think it is. Death, although very difficult for those left behind, is a beautiful thing. You can see the person at their most vulnerable and their most beautiful because when the body is failing and the soul is the only thing left, the person is the most real they can ever be. When you take away the emotions around the event, dying is really very peaceful. Like the small flame of a candle suddenly being extinguished. For a moment after it happens, there is silence and peace. Just for a moment, all is still. And the veil of Heaven parts to let another faithful soul inside. If we are lucky, maybe we can catch a quick glimpse.
Now I don't want to make light of the grief that the family and friends experience when losing a loved one. I would be the last person to deny that Peter's passing tore my heart apart. I am choosing to focus on the beauty that accompanied his death tonight.
He continues to make us aware of his presence. Death cannot take away the love between parent and child. We went to his grave site to celebrate his birthday and we brought balloons and cake. I lit the candle (shaped like a 1) on the cake and we sang "Happy Birthday". Just as we finished, I told him to make a wish and the wind blew out the candle. Then the bells in the bell tower nearby started chiming. After that, they played "Eye has not Seen", which of course made us cry, but we knew he was present with us. And we cried, mostly because of the irony. What parent wants to have their child's first birthday party at a cemetery?
As I sign off for the night, I will leave you with one parting thought: Do not fear death.
Love you Petey!
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