Sunday will mark the ninth anniversary of my mother's passing. She lived with leukemia for twenty five years, staying so positive and strong until those last few weeks when the cancer had progressed to her brain. About ten days before she passed, I was talking to her about dying, letting her know that it was alright to now have her God take charge, and that it was not a sign of weakness for her to let go. As a lifelong Catholic, her belief system included Heaven and Hell, and she was now crying with fear, convinced that she was destined for the latter. Of all the people in my life, she would be the last one to get sent there. To comfort her, I shared a story that to this day, don't really know where it came from. There was a feeling that the words coming through me were not of my own creation. I explained that as a fetus she had been safe and warm in her mother's womb, content with every need being met. I told her that if someone had asked if she was looking forward to being born and leaving that secure place for an unknown environment, that she would likely have answered in the negative. I went on to remind her that if she had not left that womb, she would have missed out on all this life had to offer. The experience of dying is the same as that of being born, moving from one reality to another. Who knew what rich experiences awaited her on the other side. Once I had finished the story, she calmed down and became very peaceful. I know that she is in her Heaven and continues to guide me here on Earth.