Ah, the moon! Something mysterious happened with the moon at the exact moment my mother took her last breath. I would call it a miracle. It has taken years to try to decipher what it was meant to show us. We are still pondering it. But whatever it was, it seemed that a powerful spiritual message was being sent. Was it a tribute to my mother? Was it a way to soothe us as we came to terms with the final departure? Was it a coincidence?
Both my husband and I witnessed this inexplicable happening. Unbeknownst to each other, we each did our own “quasi-scientific” experiments to test the veracity of what was happening. Days later, I was still “testing” whether it could have happened at all. And, to our surprise, several people said they looked at the full moon on that same night and immediately were drawn to thoughts about my mother and us.
I remember, as little girl, my parents taking me out into the yard to look at the moon. It was an adventure to be out in the dark, gazing at the moon, but with my mom and dad close by. At times we used a telescope to look more closely at the gleaming moon. At least once we stood to watch a lunar eclipse. We were a little family, looking and talking and telling tales of the moon. “Hey, diddle, diddle, the cat and the fiddle. The cow jumped over the moon.”
As years passed, I paid little attention to the moon, except for the time we Americans landed on it. Gee! It isn’t made of green cheese after all!
But then, a new relationship was born with the moon. It had to do with a guru, a spiritual teacher, who, unexpectedly, sent powerful energy to me. Some of it was conveyed through the image of the moon. At first it seemed incredible to me, but later I got to know that this was an acceptable and even welcome way to “know” things. Often the knowing came with a full moon.
“When the moon hits your eye like a big pizza pie, that’s amore.” What a silly song. But the moon spelled a kind of love within me. So it was not surprising that something was happening when my mother, whom I loved so much, was moving ever closer to her departure.
I am not sure how I knew this. It just became clear to me that my mother would not die until the moon was full. In the three and a half weeks she clung to life, she was often chatty and lucid even as her body was turning to bones and she could barely eat. We fed her carefully crafted milk shakes, dipping the straw into the liquid and transferring it to her open mouth. She lacked even the strength to drink on her own through a straw. So we fed her, like a little bird. Sometimes she seemed to rally and I would plunge into every endeavor to bring her back to the vibrant mother I knew. It was a loosing battle. Everyone from hospice who visited our home and cared for her told me so.
Still, I would stand out in the yard and plead with the moon as if bargaining with God. Please don’t let the moon be full yet. Please give me a few more days. Then, in time, it would be one more day or one more night. Begging and pleading, I would stand in the dark, as if I had some power and could influence this outcome. How naive and desperate I was – until I was taught the final lesson — of surrendering.
For two or three nights I was mistaken and thought the moon had turned full. Even one sportscaster mentioned the team playing under the full moon, then later commented that he was wrong. No it wasn’t full yet. I was relieved.
But then the night of the full moon arrived and I could not turn it back. That was to be my mother’s last night with us in the world. I can easily feel the exact emotions I felt and how the angel-like hospice nurse guided me to give a special gift to my mother.
There will be much more to tell. Now my mother, my seeming co-author, tells me to rest.