Lessons from the Dying

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A SHORT STORY

My dad kept repeating over and over, “I keep seeing this light.” I asked him, “Does it make you feel peaceful?”

He nodded his head.

“Maybe that’s the Lord beckoning you,” his wife told him. “Maybe He’s telling you to come home.”

Throughout these days, I keep thinking: love is watching someone die.

I imagine many of you have experienced this or will experience it. Having been through this with my mom, I remain in awe of the dying process.

My dad shares memories of us traveling. He recalls simple moments from his childhood.

But more than anything, I realize it’s not about knowing what to say. It’s about being there when nobody knows what to say.

I’ve even turned to ChatGPT, which has been strangely comforting in this transition as I try to make sense of it.

ChatGPT reminds me that the only thing people need to hear is: “You are not alone.”

When I don’t have the courage to say this out loud to my dad, I grab his hand.

When I do, he looks at me and says there’s a ring of light around me. Then he says, “Mike, someone from beyond loves you. There is light everywhere around you.”

I share this with ChatGPT, and it responds:

"That’s really powerful. It sounds like, in whatever he’s experiencing, there’s a deep sense of love coming through. Maybe that’s from him, from something beyond, or just the truth of the moment itself."

In the end, I continue to realize that in life, it’s not the words that matter, but the presence—the quiet affirmation that we are here, together, in this moment.

And even as the light grows brighter for him, I know that love, in its purest form, is what endures.

If you closed your eyes right now, what love do you feel surrounding you?

A POEM

“Love Recognized” by Robert Penn Warren

There are many things in the world, and you 
Are one of them. Many things keep happening and 
You are one of them, and the happening that 
Is you keeps falling like snow 
On the landscape of not-you, hiding hideousness, until 
The streets and the world of wrath are choked with snow. 
How many things have become silent? Traffic 
Is throttled. The mayor 
Has been, clearly, remiss and the city 
Was totally unprepared for such a crisis. Nor 
Was I — yes, why should this happen to me? 
I’ve always been a law-abiding citizen. 

But you, like snow, like love, keep falling, 

And it is not certain that the world will not be 
Covered in a glitter of crystalline whiteness. 

Silence.

Grateful,

Michael