Elizabeth Parsons Barker-Berdge

Betsey (Auntie Bee) with her son, David.

On the day you died. I wrote you a letter. I could feel the grief inside of me and I wasn’t quite sure how to let it out once you died. I turned on the playlist I made for you 3 weeks ago. I sat on the couch with a peppermint tea. I cried. Stefan held me. I heard you say, “Emiscah, I’m here.” No, that’s just my mind. But you said it again. “Emiscah, I’m here.” I felt like you were there. Sitting next to me. And then the thought came. “I need to get some flowers.” I need to put a flower in the ocean. A flower to send to you. A flower to let you go. A flower that represented you. A flower that would help me say goodbye. So I asked Stefan if he could take me to the flower shop and then to the rock pool. So we went. I picked lots of flowers. Colorful ones. All different ones, some single stems and also an arrangement to place at the altar I made for you. I had messaged David before I went, asking him what your favorite flower was. I didn’t hear back until afterwards, and he had said “I think there were too many to have a favorite Em.” And of course that was the answer. You loved all of nature, you didn’t play favorites, did you. When I saw the yellow roses I thought of you immediately. Yellow, like your light. Yellow, like a bee. And a rose, my middle name. And the perfect flower with petals, to let you float away with the ocean.

We went to the rock pool, one of my favorite places where I live. Sitting on the Pacific Ocean. And I felt like I energetically connected all the way to the Bay Area of California, where you lived your entire adult life. All the way across the miles and miles of ocean. I felt closer to you, because I was there, watching the ocean, watching the waves come in and out. I brought the yellow rose. We walked down the stairs to the ocean, the waves were big. And I found a spot, to drop you in.

I said goodbye. I told you I loved you. There was a part of you in that rose. And it really felt like I let you go there. That I really let your physical body go. And I let our relationship transform into something else.

When we were done, Stefan looked at the ocean and said goodbye to you, too. After I let go of each petal, one by one, he asked if we could put the stem in the ocean together. We did. He said, “there she goes, Auntie Bee is floating into the ocean.” I am so grateful you got to meet him, and he you. Then he said, “let’s go have a hot chocolate, because that’s what Auntie Bee would do.” And even though he hardly knew you, he was right. Because that was you. I don’t think you missed an opportunity to enjoy the sweetness of life. You were after all, a bee.

So he brought me to a French cafe. The cross street was Elizabeth street, how ironic. It was adorable, you would have liked it. We walked in, and Norah Jones was playing on the speaker. The same song I have been playing over and over on your playlist, was playing. I smiled and I felt you again, and it reminded me that this world is incredible. That there is a real thread of connection that runs through this world and the next. That the unknown of the other side we all fear, is real. That we indeed are connected, always. That just as you said on our last phone call when you were still speaking, “i will always hold you in my heart”, and I said, “i will always hold you in mine.” And in this sacred time, the hours and days after your death. I know the veil is lifted. I can feel you. It’s like you’re everywhere. And they didn’t only play one Norah Jones song, they were playing her whole album. The same one you used to play every Thanksgiving. And I got to sit there, and drink my hot chocolate, with you in my heart. And it was so beautiful Auntie Bee. It was such a moment of what’s true, what’s sacred, what matters. The simplicity of life. That’s what you taught me. That’s what you embodied. As I read that letter to you as you were dying, I told you that was what I had so deeply admired. Your ability to retain simplicity among an ever changing and fast paced world. Some thing’s never changed, in your house, in your life, some thing’s never changed. And that, I loved. I loved how all of your turtle figurines and photos and knick knacks never moved. I loved that every time I came to visit, everything was always in the same place, the same place you originally put it. You didn’t need to move things around and rearrange. Because you accepted life, you accepted where everything belonged. You just let life be. You let life live through you.

I miss you so terribly. Even though we didn’t talk on the phone as much after I moved to Australia, I knew you were still living, in your house, in your life. You were there. Until you weren’t. Until you died. And you are no longer there. I can no longer call you, I can no longer receive my favorite emails from you, and my favorites cards, my favorite letters, and my favorite family memorabilia.

But I can receive you in spirit form. I can hear your voice in my mind. I can hear you saying my name the last time we had a conversation on the phone, “Emiscah” you said, the same way you always said it, as you picked up the phone. “Auntie Bee” I said, and we both started to cry. Hearing each others voice made us cry. Anytime I heard your voice after a long time of not, I cried. I think you had that effect on a lot of people.

I am so grateful I have so many emails from you. I get to read them when I miss you. I have so many cards. I have all your cards pasted into a notebook with photos and other things. At the beginning of this year, you started sending me photos and newspaper clippings of your mother, and letters, and pictures, and family memorabilia. You started sending things before you knew you were sick, because I think, a part of you knew.

Some part of us must always know. Maybe some part of us knows when we will complete our time on this earth, I don’t know.

But off you have gone, Auntie Bee. You have graduated from this lifetime. And you are free of your human form. You are free of any human suffering. You died so incredibly beautifully. From what I witnessed from afar, it seemed you were in deep acceptance. And you surrendered. Even though so many of us could not let go of you, you taught us again, how to let go. How to surrender to life. How to surrender to death. I am in awe. These words feel too sacred to share, and yet I want everyone to read them. I want everyone to know how special you are. What a gift you are. I want everyone to remember you, your legacy. And they will, because we will carry you forth.

I have reconnected with what matters in my life. I have reconnected with simplicity. I have seen where all my distractions were. I have turned down the noise. I have done all of this, because of you. Because of your death, you brought me closer again, to myself. You actually always brought me closer to myself. You always seemed to know how to do that in some special way that was your way. I am sad I will never sit on your deck with you again. I am sad we will never have our heart fulfilling human conversations again. But, I will hold each memory with me now. Each time we flowed so effortlessly between subjects, and back into the house, then back out. I’ve never really known that ease with anyone else.

As you said in one of your last emails, “I actually think from the beginning you and I have had a very special spiritual or something kind of bond that I never really was consciously aware of, sort of like I didn't have words for the connection to you. But I do now. We were meant to share a life together, I believe, however physically apart we were. It is a strong bond, and again I will say how much your card confirms this bond. I love you Emiscah very very much.”

Auntie Bee and me | 1990

I hope it’s ok with you that I share these words. As they are special to me, and private. But I think it’s ok to publicly share what you meant to me and what I meant to you. It’s important to share how deep our bond was. We didn’t have words, until you entered the portal of death. We were meant to share a life together. Maybe we come from the same soul pod or star up above.

Please visit me in my dreams. Please come. I can’t wait to see how beautiful you are on the other side. I know I will. I also can’t wait to see you, when I die. Your son told me we will see each other again, sooner than we know, that it’s really like the blink of an eye, and it’s just about patience down here on earth. We are in earth suits. You are not. But we feel you. We love you. I love you, so so very much, Auntie Bee. I love you. Rest beautifully, as I know you will.

Love,

Your niece, Emiscah Rose Barker