This morning I got into a conversation with a colleague about the passing of another colleague and to her, a personal friend, due to a much discussed disease, cancer.

As a blessing in disguise, it was a relatively fast process from the time of detecting the disease to the moment of actual death. The conversation reminded me of my mother, who also died of cancer (metastatic melanoma). Like the friend above, by the time doctors discovered that my mother’s body was riddled with the cancer, there was not much we could do; prognosis was not good.

Throughout our life, my mother and I had often discussed the topic of death and dying. I was a curious child with lots of questions about life. Luckily for me, she never shied away from these kinds of topics and we talked about it ‘matter of fact’ as dying is simply ‘part of life’, or rather, the ending of the life of a physical body.

We talked about our own life expectancies too – she always said ’84’, so when she told me about her situation we thought we had at least eight months or so up our sleeve.

To support her on the last leg of her earthly journey, I went to stay with Mum to look after her, knowing that life would not get any easier. I was prepared to be with my mother for as long as it took – not just to be with her and support her in any way possible, but it was also an attempt to strengthen our relationship that had been strained for around 30 years (although the last two or three years were much improved); the perfect opportunity to do so, even if it had taken so long.

As it turned out, those expected eight months or so, turned into less than two weeks.

Thankfully my mother was as sharp as she had always been so she was very clear in her communication with me. And as she had been working in retirement homes in palliative care for many of her last years, she was able to guide me through the process of her own dying.

We talked a lot about spirituality and the things and people she saw in her mind’s eye in the last few days on her death bed. It was enlightening for me, and I felt for her, a relief as well as immense joy.

It was intense, and it was a miracle. The process of her passing and moment of her actual death felt exactly like the birth of a baby (except, it was the birth of her death).

Not long after that I decided to write about this remarkable experience. I hope it will fill you with light, too.

The Death and Birth of My Mother and I is available on Amazon in 13 countries (Kindle edition) and in 14 countries (Paperback) and includes five pieces of art I created in the quieter moments of my stay with her (also available from my art collections) and a poem I wrote in 2011.