Full Circle
My mother, Edith Rubin, passed away on Tuesday, September 3. It was her birthday, the 96th anniversary of the day she was born.
My mom’s transition was surprisingly beautiful. During her final days, she embodied a pure and powerful love. Whenever she was conscious, my mother would gaze peacefully into my eyes with boundless adoration, often pursing her lips into kisses. The last words she mouthed over and over again were, “I love you. I love you.” My sister Ruthie had the same extraordinary experience with our mom, and it was deeply healing for both of us.
As we mourn our mother’s passing with tears and hugs, we continue to be awestruck and grateful for the incredible gift she left us with. Both Ruthie and I felt that during her final time on earth she magically shed the suffering of her past and could be experienced in her full glory. My biggest wish for my mom was that after a life filled with so much fear, pain and hardship, she would die feeling completely safe and deeply cherished. Thankfully, that is what happened.
Edith (front row center) on her 68th birthday, with daughters Myra and Ruthie, husband Mendek, and grandchildren, Marea and Jeff
I expect to write more about my mom in the coming months as things settle and what needs to be processed and shared percolates to the surface. Next week, I’ll be sending out an essay about my relationship with the afterlife that features my mother. I started writing it before she actively began her transition, in anticipation of our upcoming “Beyond this Realm” online event with the renowned medium, Tina Powers. Focusing on this topic while my mother was dying proved to be very helpful, because I never felt as if I was saying a completely final goodbye.
Edith with her granddaughter Nina, circa 2011
Edith in July with Ruthie’s puppy Bliss, who adored her
Early this week, I was perusing Thich Nhat Hanh’s wisdom, and there are two excerpts I want to share today. The first is from his book, No Death, No Fear: Comforting Wisdom for Life, in honor of my mother’s transition process. In many ways, it felt like she was returning to a newborn state of pure love and complete vulnerability. Perhaps her soul was going back to where it came from before she was born…
Sometimes people ask you: “When is your birthday?” But you might ask yourself a more interesting question: “Before that day which is called my birthday, where was I?”
Ask a cloud: “What is your date of birth? Before you were born, where were you?”
If you ask the cloud, “How old are you? Can you give me your date of birth?” you can listen deeply and you may hear a reply. You can imagine the cloud being born. Before being born it was the water on the ocean’s surface. Or it was in the river and then it became vapor. It was also the sun because the sun makes the vapor. The wind is there too, helping the water to become a cloud. The cloud does not come from nothing; there has been only a change in form. It is not a birth of something out of nothing.
Sooner or later, the cloud will change into rain or snow or ice. If you look deeply into the rain, you can see the cloud. The cloud is not lost; it is transformed into rain, and the rain is transformed into grass…
Three generations of hands—Edith two days before she passed, with Myra and her granddaughter Marea
This second excerpt, from Thich Nhat Hahn’s book, Fear—Essential Wisdom for Getting Through the Storm, recounts how the precious bond of mutual love with my mother began.
Many of us don’t remember this, but a long time ago, we lived inside our mothers’ wombs. We were tiny, living human beings. There were two hearts inside your mother’s body: her own heart and your heart. During this time your mother did everything for you; she breathed for you, ate for you, drank for you. You were linked to her through your umbilical cord. Oxygen and food came to you through the umbilical cord, and you were safe and content inside of your mother. You were never too hot or too cold. You were very comfortable. You rested on a soft cushion made of water. In China and Vietnam we call the womb the palace of the child.
With boundless love and gratitude to my magnificent mother,
Edith Rubin
September 3, 1928 - September 3, 2024
Myra reuniting with Edith after a semester abroad in India, 1982
