While at my office in Walnut Creek, CA, with a client giving Reiki, I felt a jingle, a nudge from my soul, telling me to head to the hospital after the session. However, had just been there, so I set the thought outside my peripheral and continued with the session.
My loved one had been in ICU for about 25 days, and although I witnessed his body slowly shut down, he was still very present and coherent, albeit in pain and tired.
A line in my favorite song reminds me of him, "Fuego, mi esprítu." Fire is my spirit. He had so much fire and was not going down without a fight. In fact, after a few days in the hospital, he called his family to come and pick him up and told them that he was being released. Of course, that was not a true statement, he was not being released, but that call was true to his spirit.
Nearing the end of the Reiki session, I felt the jingle get louder and more urgent. Finally, when the session ended, I couldn't move fast enough to close my space and make a beeline to the hospital. I knew I was going there to give my loved one Reiki to help with his transition and not to help with his physical health.
As I entered the hall to where his room was, I saw family members in his room, some leaving and discarding their PPEs (personal protection equipment). As I geared up in the hospital-issued PPEs, I noticed that everyone had left his room. It was as if God was giving me space to do a session.
He lay there in his bed, machines beeping and swishing, the TV on, and I could hear the rhythmic sounds of the CPAP machine wheezing above all other sounds. I took his hand in mine to say hello; he greeted me with a firm grip and tired but bright eyes. There was so much vibrancy in that one moment that I knew what I felt was wrong; he wasn't going to transition that night.
I asked if I could give him Reiki, and he nodded. I don't know if he actually heard me or understood what Reiki was, but when I placed my hands on him, he closed his eyes and received the energy.
Although I am a Reiki Master, I was unprepared for the dichotomous feelings. I felt his strength and will to live yet, it felt like he was moving between this world and the next. I was further confused by the hot tears flowing into my mask and the need to send my feelings of love to him. It was as if my spirit was saying goodbye, and my body responded.
As the session ended, he tried to say something, but I couldn't hear him with the CPAP mask over his face, so he wrote his words with a pen and paper. He wrote that he needed a physical therapist. I chuckled and marveled over his strong-willed spirit. However, when I left the room, I knew he had begun transitioning, but I reflected on his fire and thought it would be a long transition and that we would see him the next day.
As we left the hospital for the evening and went to sleep, my loved one departed peacefully during the wee morning hours. I teared up in gratitude for his earthly life and Reiki's beautiful healing energy, grateful that it made his transition easeful. Later that evening, the family celebrated my son's birthday.
The message of that day was not lost on me, reflecting on my loved one's passing while celebrating a day of birth—simultaneously holding grief and joy. A beautiful reminder that it is all part of the process of living.
Life is a collection of sad and joyful moments and experiences; if we are to grow, we must embrace it all. It is part of the human experience, and we must remember it is another facet of this great adventure.