Italiano qui.

My dad left this earth in June of 2019 and exactly a year later our baby girl was born. I’d like to share with you about these experiences and how they’ve shaped my views about souls coming and going.

Maybe it sounds strange to say that how I felt when my dad took his last breaths was similar to how I felt when Maria Elena took her first. But these two moments will forever feel related in my mind. They are related because both involve the transformation of a soul from one dimension to another.

Both are profound mysteries.

Both birth and death keep us humble, reminding us that we are not, in fact, in charge. We are tiny little blips in the universe.

My dad had been battling cancer for a few years and had some complications that required surgery and a couple of months in the hospital. His body started to fail him, and we hoped and prayed for his survival until his last hours. It was definitely the saddest day of my life to date. But something unexpected happened within me. I felt an entire range of emotions that were not sadness. Awe, wonder, and connection with divine energy, to name a few. I had never been with someone when they died before. I didn’t expect to experience some of the same feelings as when I’m at a birth. Namely, the sacredness of the moment. Being in awe that life can come and go. That there is something much bigger than me. Much, much bigger. It’s overwhelming. It makes you stop and question your every move. Reassess your life. Give thanks for every breath. Wonder what was before and what is next. Maybe this life is just a little snippet of the big picture.

I thought I would feel my dad’s passing as an end, and in a way it was, and that’s why I felt sad, devastated, actually. But I also felt that his passing was a transition. Because when he stopped breathing I still felt him there, but in a different way. It was like he wasn’t even gone. And then I felt a surge of energy, sort of like when someone is pushing you on a bike or a swing.

My dad taught me how to ride a bike on the sidewalk next to our house when I was 6. For a while he barely held the back of the bike saying, “you’ve got this!” Then he gave me one last strong push, and I was off. That’s how I felt when he died. He had given me a steady stream of love and support all my life, and then he gave me one last push, and left. I felt that push, in my heart and even in my body. And I’m still going from that push.

Two months after he died Maria Elena showed up in my womb (along with the worst pregnancy nausea I’ve ever experienced - that’ll be another blog post). I wonder if he gave her a high five before sending her to us.

Kind of like a relay race when one person finishes their leg and another team member begins. Maybe he said, “okay honey I’m done, now it’s your turn!”

 Maria Elena was born at home. In the most perfect way. I think my dad helped. He even made sure it was on a Saturday morning and the bakery was open so we could all have croissants while the sunlight streamed in through the windows. And there they were, the same feelings of awe that I felt at my dad’s passing, I felt at Maria Elena’s birth.

Everyone was quiet, we knew the moment was sacred, we knew something big had just happened.

I wondered where she came from, I reassessed my life. Gave thanks for my babies and my husband and for each breath I take.

Souls come and go. But I don’t think of birth and death as a beginning and an end. I think they are rites of passage. Passage from one way of being to another. And that’s why we should honor these moments. Congratulate the soul on their new status. Stay quiet, watching, waiting, staying in tune with something that is more than us. That divine force that makes all this possible. And say thank you, for life.

I’d love to know what you think of this. Have you ever been present when someone died? Have you ever felt a divine presence at a birth (yours or anyone else’s)?