One more step . . .

My aunt, who is actually only a few years older than I, made her transition around midnight a few days ago. I wasn't surprised when I got the phone call from my mother, her sister, the next morning, because C. had told me two days before that she was finally ready to leave. We had been in constant communication just before she went into a coma brought on by the brain tumour, two months ago. My guides had alerted me when she had first found herself outside her body, which confused and disoriented her, and brought us together so I could help her become less fearful and more informed about her new state and encourage her to explore. She adapted almost immediately and brilliantly, in spite of the fear that she was losing her mind and was hallucinating. "No, you're just losing your body!" I told her.

Once she got the hang of traveling, it was a joy to watch her laugh and dance in her new-found freedom. Several other relatives who had transitioned some years ago joined her, but it was interesting to note that they revealed their presence to her carefully and gradually, like lights going from dim to brighter and brighter, rather than just appear fully formed. They explained that because most transitions are simultaneously events of healing, there's a process that's informed by the spiritual state of the transitioning person, different for everyone, which is guided by higher vibrating spirits who are there as supportive healers.

Three days ago, C. came to me, lit up with brilliance that made her appear as if she were glowing with indescribable colours, and said with a barely-subdued sense of excitement, "I'm ready!" She had resisted transitioning because of worries about her only son, who has many emotional and mental problems and has always depended on her for support. Even though she could no longer talk, or give evidence that she heard or saw anything around her, he had been sitting with her from dawn to dusk for the past week, and it was in that time that, as spiritual beings, they came to an understanding and agreement that it was time for them both to move forward in transition.

It was then that C. stopped eating and drinking, which up to that point had been an automatic response whenever someone brought food or water to her mouth.

She left the husk of her body around midnight a few days later. My mother, who was unaware of this event, shared that it was a little after midnight that she was sitting in a chair and felt something at her neck, and then the fairly new chain that held a crucifix "just came apart" and the cross fell into her lap. About an hour later, the phone call came that C. had died.

While I feel a sense of sadness, it's also mixed with relief and my own sense of anticipatory joy that the long line I've been standing in for years has moved forward by one, bringing me closer to the door that awaits me to enter it and step into the arms of many, many loved ones.