The time of my grandfather dying

I originally wrote this for my family and friends. It received a large response, and thus I am re-posting it on here in the hopes my story and experience of my grandfather passing may support and resonate with others.

Grandpa on his 90th birthday in August 2020.

“You are in the time of your grandfather dying,” a new friend had stated to me earlier in the week.

During that conversation, I didn’t know if the timeline of that statement would be drawn out over years or condensed into days. After all, there was still a chance for some kind of recovery. But I wasn’t convinced that was what he wanted.

I had a special bond with my gramps. I would come over from the mainland to visit him regularly, to share in conversation about his life, his ancestry, his experiences.

We would occasionally talk about death. “I used to be afraid of it,” he candidly shared once. “Now I’m kind of curious as to what’s on the other side.”

It’s no coincidence that my grandfather’s passing coincided during a time when I returned to live on the island after many years away, and while delving into a project centred around elder trees.

I had just emerged from the woods when I found out my grandpa Sam was palliating. It was only two days after that conversation with my friend. I went immediately from the blockades to his hospital bedside. We looked at each other in the eyes, tears running down both of our cheeks as I sang to him.

I was in the time of my grandfather dying.

I took that statement on as a responsibility. Everything else in my life went to the side. In this time, I would be with my grandpa and that was priority.

I spent 5+ days by his bedside at the hospital. I watched his breathing change, his body change, his strength diminish.

I held and massaged his hands. I kissed his forehead and cheeks and stroked his hair. I sang him songs and recounted memories and stories. I read him books and played him voice recordings from family members.

And I told him the truth, that his body was shutting down and he was dying. I drafted my eulogy for him and then I read it to him. With loving encouragement, I repeatedly told him that when he was ready, it was okay to pass and I would be there with him.

After five days of holding vigil, grandpa finally crossed the veil in the wee hours of the morning. I immediately returned to his bedside, spending ample time with his newly vacant vessel, singing and witnessing.

And then I went to the ocean where I gave my tears and my prayers to the water and the freshly risen sun.

Some cultures say the soul lingers for four days after death or burial, others say 40 days. I think about how in western culture we have largely forgotten the traditions around a soul’s transition. In many ways, westerners will yearn for some way to understand this process, especially these days with so much grief and loss in our collective experiences.

So in absence of cultural direction, I’m following my instinct in this moment. I have a candle burning for his spirit and a bowl of water to catch the grief. I’m still singing the songs I sang to him in the hospital. And in this short time since his passing, he’s already visited a few times in my dreams.

Grateful to have spent this precious time with my grandfather Sam during his transition to the spirit realm.