The Last Goodbye

Flames from the fireplace leapt out and crackled warmly as I stepped into the softly lighted room. I took off my heavy winter coat and hung it on a bronze pole which was recessed in the wall opposite the fireplace. The coat looked lonely there hanging by itself, and I thought of my mother and brother. They had been with Dad when he let out his last breath, and I understood their absence. Enough farewells until the final one at the funeral the next day. I had been out driving in the harsh remnants of the blizzard that had engulfed the city one hundred twenty hours earlier, the night my father died, and the room comforted me with its warmth and simple, intricate beauty. The man who had greeted me looked almost as dead as my father, his flesh pinched tight and white over the impossibly high cheekbones. There had been, however, a lovely graciousness in his greeting, and he'd acted as if it was the most normal event for a person to walk into a room alone with an occupied casket. I had been afraid at first, afraid of this final good-bye, but the welcoming glow in the room made me forget my fear.

The casket that cradled my father's body was set against the far wall between burning candles placed in five foot tall wooden holders. There was an unmistakable presence in the room: my father and I were not alone. Great reverence flooded through me as I walked towards the casket, and when I found myself on my knees in front of it, I knew what it was. The room was filled with the otherwordly light that I first saw in the old synagogue when I was a very tiny child. I had thought I would be sorrowing; instead I wept ecstatic tears. Kneeling, I welcomed the light shining from the subtle realms that had come to guide my father away from this world. I stood, feeling divinely supported, and I looked down at my father's body.

There was such profound stillness in his face. In keeping with ancient Jewish tradition there had been no embalming or cosmetic improvements. My father had been dead for five days, and I looked with awe at the small changes beginning to take place. His eyelids were not quite shut, and I peered more closely. I couldn't see his eyes, but his eyelids looked so vulnerable! They were shrinking, and just for a moment, I saw the eyelids of the seven year old boy who had lived eighty years earlier. Within the mask of death, the corners of his mouth were succumbing to gravity and were falling back. In a short time, the mouth that had laughed and scolded and held itself tightly closed would turn into a death grimace. There was the slightest tinge of grey in his skin, that now lay so implacably over the now silent bones and organs. Instead of revulsion, I felt such gratitude to the physical body that had carried the soul of Eddie Lewison throughout his life. I thanked him for having been my father, and I put my hand on his. It was ice cold. I told him how sorry I was that I hadn't been with him during his last days. I touched the space between his eyebrows, the space where the soul is said to reside, and I prayed for him to be set free.. Then I sat in the chair in front of the fireplace, and started to softly sing. I sang Hebrew songs that he taught me as a child, and Sanskrit songs that I could never share with him when he was alive. And then I just knew that it was time to go. I got down on my knees, almost smiling because it was so against Jewish tradition, but I knew it was okay. I prayed to the Great Beings to take care of Eddie. As I put my coat on, I felt a sensation like beating wings in my heart, and an inner door flew open and my heart was filled with such love and light. I closed my eyes, and silently said the last goodbye.