Our dear ol’ doctor dad, 96 years old, finally let go last night at around 7:55 p.m. (See earlier posts, beginning with the anointing ceremony, back in June and July.)
After a mighty battle with the finality of his life here on earth in an increasingly poisoned and edemic dense body — just a month ago he exclaimed, full of himself after an exceedingly rare full night’s sleep, “I might just beat this disease after all!” — he had kidney disease, and was at that point operating on about 5% kidney function — he finally, after a scary and tremendously debilitating and anxiety-ridden three nights of no sleep at all because of continuous “air hunger” — agreed to allow morphine into his system.
Morphine did the trick, helped him sink beneath that tremendous ego will to control the course of his living and dying. The morphine helped his lungs relax, and his mind relax. Finally, after decades of blaring Fox News, he could expand into the silent mysterious flow of the now.
“Now I’m a drug addict!” he joked, the first night “on” the drug, a minuscule dose, by the way, and he never required more than that. Just under that mighty will was the river of allowing, the course of which carried him out of this body in only four days and nights of increasingly undisturbed sleep.
In the end, it was sister Kristin, who has been there for them for years, every week, then several times a week, then daily, then moving them to Mount St. Vincent’s where they could be closer to where she lives, who was present.
He went in a flash, easily. Mom had just shuffled in to his recently installed hospital bed to tell him goodnight, to say she loves him, and to give him a kiss. She turned around, started out of the living room to their bedroom. Kris, who was in the living room, glanced over at Dad, and just at that moment, noticed the color start to drain out of his face.
I “did the chart” (astrological chart, that is) for his death, and he passed during the two hours of this month when the Moon was conjunct Pluto, at 7° Capricorn.
That point in the zodiac happens to be exactly 180° away from his own natal Pluto. And over the past year, as this very long-cycled planet crisscrossed over that first and only opposition to his own natal Pluto, Dad fought and fought and fought to hold on, or at least to control and direct the course of his own demise. Of course in the end, he lost the battle, as we all do when Pluto is our adversary, and we have to allow our dying in order for regeneration to take place. Dying to the body. Dying to the ego-self. Dying to who we think we are.
Yesterday was a good day to die. The Sun in Virgo, trining his natal Venus, also trined that Moon/Pluto conjunction, lighting up a creative, harmonious, peaceful grand trine in earth.
And the exact minute of death? Well, that happened when the early Pisces Ascendant, moving four degrees per minute, crossed over spiritual Neptune, planet of unconditional love and the dissolution of form.
As life is full of wonder and awe, so is death.
I’m not sure how much I’ll be blogging in the next 18 days, during which I will remain after the funeral in Seattle as companion to our 94-year-old Mom, who has dementia, in her transition to whatever comes next. My seven siblings and I gather there today.