There is a particular past life memory that is revisiting me this morning. Mainly it is because a song is on my mind – I’ll Fly Away.

Sometimes there are past life memories that come up and are so beautiful that the memory reaches across lifetimes and brings tears of joy. This is one of those memories. It also just happens to be a memory of my own death.

This was from my most recent full-life. I say full because the life previous to this one was cut short when I was still a very young boy. In this particular life, I died in 1963 from Hepatitis, which I inadvertently contracted from contact with a dirty needle. I was a nurse in that lifetime so dirty needles were an everyday occurrence. Unfortunately, accidents happen.

This particular memory was from my deathbed. I was in the hospital, hooked up to all kinds of tubes and wires. The memory is from outside of my body because I had been unconscious for some time. My liver had failed and so it was just a waiting game from that point on. My two children came to visit me that day because they had been told my death was imminent. They were both grown. A son and a daughter. I believe there were others with them, but in the memory they were who I focused on.

I was a black woman who grew up in the South (Mississippi) and relied heavily on my relationship with God to get me through. My church and my brothers and sisters in Christ were my salvation more times than I could count. Singing was also interwoven into every aspect of my life. So it is no surprise that music followed me out of that lifetime.

As I was leaving to go into the Light, my children along with the others who were gathered at my bedside, sang I’ll Fly Away and other songs to send me off to heaven. Though they were sad and grieving heavily there was also joy present. And love. So much love. The feeling with this memory and this song was jubilation. I was going Home.

The memory was devoid of pain. Though my body was falling apart, slowly dying from the inside out, I had no pain. I was in a perfect bubble of peace, completely unconcerned for my physical body and my approaching death. All my focus was on my beautiful children who I was so very proud of and the feeling was that I had done a good job and could leave them without worry. I don’t remember my guides or any angels being present. I don’t remember seeing a tunnel of light or having any of those profound experiences so many NDE accounts speak of. Yet I knew that when I turned around and left, that I would be embraced by my waiting family. I could feel them all around me. That was the bubble of peace. They were my peace.

So you can see why this memory is cherished by me even in this lifetime. Recalling it helped me understand that death is a celebration, an event of homecoming. A new beginning. If I could give one gift to those living on Earth, it would be a similar memory of their own death (homecoming). Then there would be no reason to grieve the passing of a loved one or to fear their own passing. Death, in my opinion, is probably the most beautiful part of living.