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death and DYINGLast summer my husband, David McCleskey, was diagnosedwith liver cancer. Forty days from his diagnosis, he made his passage.He died in the arms of our Sangha. In fact, the Sangha wassitting in our house sending David a loving kindness meditation atthe moment he passed. Our Sangha and the practice gave comfortto David and to me, and the Sangha received a beautiful gift bybeing Npresent. The following story is one of many in a book I’mwriting about David’s dying.Nights were always difficult. Like a newborn baby, David awokefrequently, and his days and nights were all mixed up. He nevercomplained, but he needed things: water, help to the commode,light on, light off, more blankets, fewer blankets. On this night,however, David was more agitated than usual. He began to kickthe bedcovers off and sigh heavily.“What is it?” I asked.“I’m miserable, so miserable,” he said.“Do you need something, some water?”“Nothing, no, nothing. I’ve wasted my life, wasted too muchtime. My work isn’t finished. And there isn’t any way to fix thatnow.”I turned on the light. David’s face was full of grief and despair.Everything in me wanted to blurt out, “No, darling, that isn’ttrue. You’ve done so much with your life. You’ve had a great andwonderful life.” But a voice inside me said, “Keep still.” What todo then? I rubbed David’s shoulder. “It’s okay, okay,” I said.He reached for my hand and squeezed it tightly, letting outa great sigh. That giant out-breath was like a message. An innervoice said, “He’s releasing. Allow it.”Over the next several hours, David poured out mountains ofregret in great sighs. His words were very few and I was not surewhat exactly was being released. But I knew that each sigh, eachword, held great substance and meaning for David. Our bedroomwas a container for the dark and dense energy that came from mybeloved’s being that night. The air was so thick that it was hard tobreathe. I was not afraid of the energy itself, heavy though it was.I was afraid of the harm that might come to David if he couldn’tstop generating these terrible, agonizing regrets. I did not wantmy sweetheart to die with these thoughts on his mind.Near dawn, a soft pink glow permeated the room. A presencewhispered in my ear: “Patricia, everyone walks this valleyof regret. You will many times; you have already done so manytimes. All of our work on earth is unfinished and we are unfinishedand it is okay.”I knew that David felt this presence also because he opened hiseyes, smiled a very tiny smile, and said, “This is exhausting.”“Yes it is,” I said. “But you’re letting go of a lot of bad feelings.I think everyone has regrets like this, don’t you?”“Hmm. Maybe.” He was thoughtful for a moment. His breathingshifted, becoming more rhythmic and relaxed. We slept thenReleasingRegretBy Patricia Webbphoto by Bonnie WiesnerWatching David in the momentsjust after that phone call was likewatching a sunrise.the Mindfulness Bell 35