I had a poignant interaction with a woman last night during Art and Spirituality that has left me in deep reflection. After our opening circle at the prison, where we each say our names and a prayer is read, participants began moving around the room to find their necessary supplies and identify a seat. Without fully knowing why, I had a keen intuitive sense that I needed to sit next to a specific participant who was one of the first women seated. The other participants were still shuffling around, locating the various art supplies they were intending to use and perusing the black and white images for coloring. I recalled that the woman that I sat next to entered the space in seemingly high spirits, but as soon as I sat down next to her and turned to greet her, I noticed that there were tears in her eyes. She explained to me, in a low voice, that she found out early in the day that her mother was just diagnosed with terminal bone cancer and was in the hospital. She continued to share the enormous pain that she felt not knowing if she was going to get to say goodbye to her mother due to her incarceration. Her pain was palpable. Knowing that there was very little that I could do to console her, I simply placed one hand on her shoulder and offered her my steady eye contact and fullness of presence. I said very little to her as she continued to share about the pain of not knowing.

I just returned the night before from my grandmother’s funeral in New York. She died of bone cancer only six weeks after she received the diagnosis. At Thanksgiving, my whole family gathered around her in her tiny apartment in Queens and offered our goodbyes. Yesterday, as the woman at the prison wept about her own mother, I thought about my grandmother, and was filled with an immense sense of empathy for the woman with whom I was in conversation.

In reflecting on the conversation from the prison Monday night, I imagined the turmoil that I inevitably would experience if I weren’t able to be with my own mother in the event of her being gravely ill.  My grandmother died at the age of 83, in her own bed, surrounded by my grandfather and their six children. I got to witness my mother care for my grandmother throughout her final days and watched my mother walk through what I can only describe as an initiation. I saw her deep in an often-painful process of glimpsing the universal mystery, the wheel of life turning, and experiencing impermanence through the process of saying goodbye. Deepak Chopra said, “Impermanence is not something to be afraid of. It’s the evolution, a never-ending horizon.” I got to watch my mother fiercely look toward that horizon and say goodbye to the one who gave her life. Although I believe that every person transitions from their physical form at their own perfect time, I will be praying for the woman’s mother from prison last night and will pray that she hangs on until her daughter can join her, hold her hand, say goodbye, and have the opportunity to move through that powerful initiation of letting go.

Liana Johannaber, Dec. 14, 2014