Jacquie sat at the bedside of her mother, monitoring her pulse. Ellen had suffered from liver cancer and chemo-induced strokes. She didn’t speak or give any indication of understanding, but she still managed to open her eyes whenever her husband entered the room.

Jacquie was just twenty-six, but her near-death experience two years earlier had given her intuitive insights beyond her years.

She saw a blue haze near the head of the bed. She initially thought it was cigarette smoke, but quickly realized no one was smoking, and no one else in the room could see it.

She leaned close and whispered to her mother, “I know you’re holding on for us, but it’s ok to go. It’s alright.”

She walked into the back yard and sat in the porch swing. It was a warm Palm Sunday. The snow from the previous day had gone. She looked into the clear sky and said, “It’s a beautiful day to go, Momma.”

In that instant, the church bell across the street began to ring, signaling the end of services. At the same time, the noon fire whistle blew.

Jacquie felt a hand brush past her face, from her left ear, across her left cheek, and upward. She said, “It was as if Momma flew past me and stroked my cheek as she left.”

Family soon rushed into the backyard to say Ellen was gone. Jacquie smiled softly. She already knew.

“It was one of the most profound experiences I’ve ever had,” she told me, nearly 40 years later.

Our loved ones often hold on, waiting for us. Sometimes all we need to do is quietly whisper, “It’s okay. You can go.”