I need to include grandma in this story. Before I was old enough to go to kindergarten, mom and dad both needed to work, so during the weekdays I stayed with my maternal grandmother, Gladys. She’s important because at this early age I experienced the gift of unconditional love and support from this wonderful woman. I was truly blessed. We loved to play Scrabble and Pinochle together and pick raspberries in her yard.
I snapped this picture sometime in the late 60’s or early 70’s, I think, catching her off guard with my 35mm camera. It captures the pure joy that was inside her. We loved to watch reruns of Perry Mason on TV. I was watching the moon landing in 1969 with her in her bedroom at mom and dad’s house.
To this day, I have never wept so deeply for so long for the loss of anyone I knew than I did for her, not the day I heard she had passed, but years before that, when the realization swept over me that she wouldn’t be in this life with me forever.
The day she actually passed, my mother called me at work to let me know that she had found grandma in her bed that morning, her hands folded on top of her chest, the sheet pulled up over her head. It was grandma’s time, and she knew it. I came home from work early. That afternoon, I had fallen asleep and was dreaming when the phone rang—it was mother asking when I’d be coming over to the house. I recall that moment vividly because as I awoke, the Albert King song Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven (But Nobody Wants to Die), sung by Ellen McIlwaine, was playing loudly in my head.
Everybody Wants to Go to Heaven (But Nobody Wants to Die)
 | Ev’rybody wants to go to heaven But nobody wants to die Ev’rybody wants to laugh Oh, without even askin’ why Ev’rybody wants to go to heaven But nobody wants to die |
I only experienced that “whirlpool of grief” one other time: during a breathwork session with David Elliott around 2015. I narrowly avoided getting sucked into it in that workshop—I didn’t want to call attention to myself, not knowing how disruptive my adventure (or “death”?) might be to those around me. After the experience, as others opened their eyes and began chatting amongst themselves, I found myself aware of my body but unable to move it or speak for several awkward minutes. Breathwork can be powerful.