My mother, sister and brother reported telling him that it was a good “rebirthday.” He was very weak. I read him part of the scene on the Hogwart’s Tower at the end of The Half-Blood Prince. He was in pain, but the breath was too weak to form words. We tried repositioning him, offered water and medication, but could not make him comfortable.

Standing at the head of the bed, I took his head in my hands and turned my attention upwards. “Your higher self is telling you it’s time to go, Dad. Time to share all the experience and insight you’ve gained in this life with the holy mind, and try to figure out why it was so hard for people to receive it from you.”

The nurse came in around 2PM and told us that the focus was now to keep him comfortable. My mother had baked cookies and the room was filled with their sweet odor. They were talking about their hopes that he would pass soon, and I interrupted “I don’t know – I keep on visualizing him in a big brain party up in heaven. With lots of terrible puns.” My father’s head stirred, and my sister offered “I think that he heard you.”

I left to spend time with my sons, who are on break from college. My father was breathing comfortably when he passed around 8:30 last night. His spirit felt at peace when I walked back into the house.

I’m afraid that this is the best that I can do Dad:

Yes, there will be a big brain party, but no hors d’ouevres, because heaven can’t wait.