In the hope of giving himself “more time,” he embarked on a course of treatment that had never been used on anyone of his age before. It did not go well. I was the lone voice in our family saying, “Stop the treatment, please. It’s seriously undermining your quality of life. You need to smell the flowers! Watch the clouds!”

And in the end, that’s what he did. The upside was that it gave me the opportunity to spend time with him after he accepted that he was dying. As we smelled the flowers and watched the clouds together, we had incredible conversations. He was having the experience of dying, and I was able to ask him what that was like. What a gift! Together we remembered and laughed and grieved and speculated on what was next.

After my mother died in 2004, I had a series of dream experiences with her. She was only 78 when she went, so we didn’t have as much time together as I did with Dad. But after Dad went, there were no dreams until one night when I found myself walking down a country lane. It felt like another world – the colours were beautiful and vivid – everything glowed. And then I noticed that my parents were walking hand in hand up ahead of me. “Mom! Dad!” I called, and they turned and stopped. I ran to catch up. They were resplendent! They looked as they did when they were in their forties, when I was a teenager. They exuded joy and health and life – but I knew they were “dead”. I was so glad to see them! I laughed and said, “Isn’t it weird that I’m now older that you are?” And my dad looked at me – such love in his eyes, and with his usual dollop of humour said, “It’s not anything like you think it is.” Then they turned and continued their walk.

Writing about that dream, I still get tingles on the top of my head. It was a clear message from my father – answering the question that we’d been discussing before he switched dimensions. What’s it like to die? It’s not anything like you think it is…