In 2014, my 88-year-old father-in-law passed out at breakfast, in the middle of his favorite restaurant. As the nearest relative, my husband got the call from the hospital. They said he would survive, but they would not release him to live independently. We had three days to find him a new home in an assisted living community. 

In a blink of an eye, our world flipped upside down as we took over the reins of my father-in-law’s life. It was just the beginning.

Blink: My father’s back surgery failed, landing him in a rehab/nursing hospital, unexpectedly unable to walk. 

Blink: My mother fell and was admitted into the same nursing home, two doors down from Dad.

Blink, blink, blink: My mother was hospitalized for a bowel obstruction, for a stroke, for another fall. 

Blink: My father-in-law arose one morning before dawn, dressed, sat down in his recliner, and died.

And BLINK.  My mother would not wake up from a “deep sleep” the day after Christmas 2017. Time for hospice. Time to cash in the frequent flier miles saved for that anticipated emergency flight. Time to go.

This, my friends, is the Shadowlands.  It’s a land of grief, where you learn to let go of people, things, and ways of life you hold dear.

Our parents did not decline gradually. They tumbled hard and fast, and we flung ourselves after them,

With each blink, I realized life as I knew it had ended. 

Each blink brought us face-to-face with another true limit of life. We watched our parents losing things we all always took for granted. Health. Independence. Mobility. 

And we knew what it all was leading to. 

Death. 

It was on the horizon. On the doorstep. In the room. 

This, my friends, is the Shadowlands.  It’s a land of grief, where you learn to let go of people, things, and ways of life you hold dear.

The Shadowlands are not just for the dying. The grieving starts way before death. Both for the person in transition.

And if you care, you’re there. Releasing your own sorrows as the days progress.

It may look as though you are HERE, driving to work, feeding your cats, paying your bills.

But you know something changed. You stepped over a threshold. You aren’t in Kansas anymore.

Few people voluntarily visit the Shadowlands, which is why the journey can be so lonely. Yet it can be an improbable land of opportunity. My attention was so focused on my mother’s experience, all the other storms in my life became tempests in teapots on someone else’s table.

My father, in his wheelchair, took charge of my mother’s care with impressive resilience and resolve. My family formed a stronger bond as we walked my mother to the other side. Most importantly, her death motivated me to take a hard look at my own circumstances. I realized my life had to change. 

So, I changed it.

I quit my job and began my training as a coach and end-of-life doula. I am committed to helping others traverse this strange domain between heaven and earth. The Shadowlands.  

“I do not at all understand the mystery of grace – only that it meets us where we are but does not leave us where it found us,” Anne Lamott, author. 

The past four years of my life have been chaotic. They were full of fear, frustration, and grief. But they also were full of grace that picked me up and left me somewhere else, on higher ground. My new adventure begins.