I have been reading Miles Levin's blog for a few months now. Today I am enveloped in sadness as I read his mother's entry:
Have received word that the spaceship is on its way. Miles is packed and ready to go. He is taking nothing with him, except himSELF. He told me this morning that this process requires extraordinary patience.
He and I have had our final conversations, which were simple: LOVE. In our case, he and I acknowledge that there is nothing much to forgive. The "I'm sorry" part of the conversation was a nano second. The gaze, which is what we do now most of the time, touches eternity. The bond between us is sealed. Our commitment has been solid, through thick and thin, until the very end. I rest easy in knowing that my devotion was 100%, at all costs, because my love was defined by sacrifice. I'm at peace with the feeling of completion, no regret, and no lingering self doubt. I was and am his mother - in every sense - until the end.
He is resting in the knowledge that he has accomplished his mission. Early on in his carepages, he said something to the effect, It's not dying I'm afraid of; it's dying without having had an impact. I repeat: he is resting in the knowledge that he has fulfilled his purpose. In spades. Little does he know, really, how true it is and will continue to be.
The house is quiet. Very still. No visitors; just family. Which is how he wants it. The mood and atmosphere is heavy with waiting. I'm trying not to rush anything or hold on to anything; everything in its own time. No more fighting or struggling. I pray he drifts away in peace. He deserves that.
Along with the tens of thousands of others who have come to love Miles (who is barely older than Aleks and Kat) through his amazingly well-written blog, Nancy's entry today stopped me in my tracks. I think we all believed that some miracle would prevent Miles' death, simply because we have all come to love him. But as we all know, love doesn't prevent death. And now, it seems, it's time for love to help shepherd death.
Wanting to somehow help (but knowing I can't), I posted this for Miles' family:
Not sure if it will help, but here are some things I learned as I helped my mother through her last week:
*It's much like "transition" in the birth process. It's hard work and calls for much internal strength and determination. There is definitely WORK happening. But it seems to be work with a purpose, and there is incentive from within. They WANT to go through the necessary steps, and our job is to allow and encourage a smooth transition.
* It takes more time (or did for us) that you might be comfortable with. But he probably has lost all sense of time, so in this regard, the pain and impatience of waiting is yours. It's hard because you don't want his suffering prolonged. But he is on his own time schedule now and it takes what it takes.
*The love is more pure, more "holy" than imaginable. This experience is the only one for which I have ever used the word "holy." For me, it has come to define the word.
My mother's final gift to me ("Final Gifts" is an extraordinary book; I'm sure you've already read it) was the gift of taking away any fear of death in me. I now understand that death is not to be feared. My mom definitely came to realize this in her last week; I'm sure Miles has too.
My heart, like millions of others' hearts, is with you and your family.
The spaceship is filled with love.
Carol
I'm so sad. And I never even knew him.
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