What a Conscious Death Can Look Like: A Personal Story of Transition

Death is something our culture often avoids talking about, yet it is one of the most sacred transitions we will ever experience.

Recently, my family faced the sudden diagnosis of pancreatic cancer with my great-aunt Paulette. What unfolded over the next few weeks became a deeply spiritual experience, one that reminded me that death is not simply an ending, but a transition of the soul.

This is the story of helping someone I love move peacefully from this world into the next.

Just four weeks ago, unfortunate news rippled through my family lineage. My great-aunt Paulette, my grandmother’s sister, was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer.

Now, I don’t know if you’ve ever known someone who has transitioned from this type of cancer, but I have, and it’s not something I would wish on anyone.

From Arizona, there wasn’t much I could do except wait for updates about her health from my sister. At first, they were thinking she might have three to six months. I’m not sure if that estimate was with chemotherapy and radiation or without it. So I booked a flight for the beginning of April, thinking I would also surprise my sister for her birthday.

But within 24 hours of booking the flight, my sister called me. Her voice carried the kind of quiet realization that something had changed.

She told me she didn’t think our aunt was going to make it that long.

I changed my flight right away to go see her one last time.

I arrived in Atlanta late Friday night and drove straight to my sister’s home in Tennessee.

The next morning, we went up to the hospital together. The small room was already crowded with family. I watched as each person began processing what life would look like when she was gone, remembering the good times and the difficult ones, while somehow managing to stay present while she was still alive.

I wondered if she could hear what they were saying.

She lay there asleep. The nurse had given her pain medication earlier, so she wasn’t awake for most of the day. We visited for about an hour before deciding to go eat with my nephew.

I had made up my mind before we left the hospital that I would return that night. I wanted to spend time with her, even if she was asleep. I knew that finding quiet, alone time with her would be difficult during the day with so many family members and friends coming in and out.

The room was dark and she was asleep when I arrived. I sat in a recliner off to the side and got comfortable. She tossed and turned all night. Every 15 or 20 minutes she would wake up and moan. Her breathing was heavy and fast. I wondered if she would make it through the night.

The constant up and down only allowed me to sleep in small increments. As soon as she moved, I would pop up to make sure she was okay. I think this is what it must feel like to have a newborn, a sudden jolt of energy followed by the quick fade back into sleep, setting my body up for physical exhaustion.

In a moment of clarity, I let her know what to expect during her transition—how her breathing would change, and that she should not be afraid to go into the light. Her soul family is waiting for her. She is not alone.

We are never alone.

I asked if I could pray over her with the Dying Conscious Death Prayer from The Tibetan Book of Living and Dyingand cover her with white light. I filled my orbs with energy and placed them over her. I let her know I am here whenever she needs me—just pull my energy from the orbs.

Conscious Death Prayer from The Tibetan Book of Living and Dying by Guru Rinpoche

adapted in 1998 by Carolyn Brent (n.k.a. Cayelin Castell)

Envisioning and invoking a presence of light embodying truth, wisdom, love, and compassion (i.e., Kwan Yin, Mother Mary, Jesus, Buddha, Healing Angels, etc.), pray thus:

Holy Divine Mother,Through your blessing, grace, and guidance,through the power of the light that streams from you:

All of (the person’s name who is dying) negative karma, destructive emotions, obscurations, and blockages are purified and transformed. I know you are forgiven for all the harm you have ever thought or done.

Together we accomplish this profound practice of conscious death and surrender and die a good and peaceful death. Through the triumph of your death, you are benefiting all beings in all realms and dimensions throughout time and space and beyond. Through this conscious death and surrender, a new Earth is birthed into a Golden Age of love, joy, beauty, harmony, peace, plenty, illumination, and Sacred Union with all that is.

I give thanks that this is done, and this is so, and all Heaven and Earth rejoice.

Blessed Be!

The next morning, the doctor came in to talk to my aunt about what was next. The family had said the day before that she could either go to therapy or go home on hospice. This doctor didn’t mention therapy; instead, he talked about hospice.

I don’t think Paulette or her friend picked up on what he was trying to say. He kept glancing over at me to see if I understood. I nodded to let him know that I knew exactly what was going to happen.

I came back that night to sit with her again, but this time they had given her medicine to help her sleep. After she fell asleep, I went back to my sister’s.

The next morning, I popped in to say my last goodbye. I knew she wasn’t going to the nursing home to get stronger, but everyone else still had hope. She was oscillating between realms that day, and her pain seemed worse than before. I couldn’t bear to see her in that much pain.

I left without saying goodbye, not because I didn’t want to, but because she was out of her mind in pain and held up in the bathroom. I’m not sure she would have even known I was there.

My trip had come to an end, and I headed back to Arizona. It was not meant for me to stay. I did what I set out to do. My sister updated me before I got on the plane—she had come home to hospice.

Once I landed in Phoenix, I got another update that she had popped up in bed like nothing had happened. She took care of all her last wishes in the short time that she was completely lucid. By the next day, she was being heavily medicated to keep her comfortable.

My sister called and said she didn’t think she’d make it through the night and asked me to help her move on.

I sprang into action and gathered frankincense, myrrh, a necklace from Africa that I had brought back from storage, and my notebook. I went to DeGrazia’s Guadalupe Temple to perform the ceremony. It is a sacred place where people come to honor and remember their loved ones. The quiet stillness of the chapel made it the perfect place to hold an uninterrupted ceremony.

I played music and opened sacred space by calling in her oversoul. I cried, I prayed, I danced, and I called on her guides, angels, and ancestors. She was already there, waiting for what was next.

I knew her body would give out in the night.

At 5 a.m., she took her last breath.

I love you, Paulette.

Until we meet again.

And so it is.

Experiences like this remind me that death is not something to fear. It is a doorway.

When we approach it with presence, prayer, and love, we can help those we care about transition with peace and dignity.

My hope is that more people begin to speak openly about conscious death and the spiritual support that can surround it.

If you have ever sat with someone during their final days, you know there is something sacred about that space between worlds.

Paulette reminded me of that.