July 28, 2026
As my fourth writing honoring Sherryl Lin Taylor’s life and passage, I want to share her last words to me. They were unusual in a number of ways. And I feel they are meaningful to us all, worth pondering, and very much the sort of thing she’d enjoy having shared as wisdom from her.
She had come to me that morning quite clearly when I woke and asked me to visit her that day, saying she had a question for me. As it happened, Brian and another person decided to join as well.
The three of us were around her bedside; Brian and his friend were visiting, Brian sharing stories of his times with Sherryl Lin. After listening to them for a while, I began to feel Sherryl Lin reminding me she had a question.
Let me clarify that Sherryl Lin had become quiet and non-responsive in the last few days, her breath having grown more labored as well. So my last communication with her was entirely telepathic, non-verbal, but absolutely clear.
Receiving the feeling of inquiry from her, I asked telepathically, “You mentioned having a question for me?”
I felt her “Yes,” then immediately understood her question as: “Is breath also something you have to let go of?”
Her question referred to numerous conversations we’d had in the previous months as she moved closer to passing. She often asked me how I’d observed people in their final moments of letting go of the body. She realized the body itself had a strong reflex to stay alive and wondered if I’d observed people have difficulty with that at the end.
I had seen this many times, observing that it was not as automatic as we might sometimes suspect. Letting go of the body wasn’t always easy. So on this occasion her question to me was whether breath is also something you have to let go of. Her communication had a feeling of uncertainty about whether stopping breathing was okay.
Sitting there, I realized that, in fact, there could be an uncertainty about that. It seems obvious in a way, but when it comes to actually stopping breathing, I realized that in the moment it likely wouldn’t feel that obvious.
So I told her, “Yes, it’s necessary to let go of breath too.”
I wondered if she would do that right then because I had the sense that she was “practicing” it, approaching it, knowing yes, it was also something else to release. I could feel her approach her last breath and back away a few times.
Then I suddenly realized that what she was practicing was similar to holding her breath. I communicated to her that holding her breath was not what was needed. I felt her puzzlement.
“Rather than holding your breath,” I felt inspired to say, “you exhale as usual, letting all the air go. Then—realizing you no longer need breath because your full essence of self never dies—you simply don’t take another inhale.”
I felt a flash of insight pass between us, an AHA on her part, as she felt what was absolutely true: she didn’t need breath anymore! It was a revelation for both of us, at a depth I find words inadequate for. Though I suspect you feel it too.
It’s a deep, clear memory in us, this lack of need for earthly air. It’s an instinct as certain as the body’s natural instinct is to breathe. We instinctively breathe, but we also remember how not to breathe.
She got it. And again I wondered if she was going to pass then, with the three of us with her. I felt her smile and say, “Now that I understand how, I’ll just stay here… I want to listen to my sweetheart’s voice for a while.”
Brian talked on, remembering with his friend, as his sweetheart let the timbre and frequency of his voice wash over her, sound being the last of the senses to leave us when we go.
At length the friend left, and soon after Brian and I drove the hour back to our area together. We learned that Sherryl Lin passed before we were home.
Her beautiful last words to me—a question—seemed a wonderful gift.
And her beautiful last words for him—that she wanted, just a little longer, to listen to the sound of her sweetheart’s voice—were deeply touching to us both.
It is always a rare time, this walk with someone through their final passage in life. Many of you know this from your own experiences. Within it is the same mix of difficulty and awe, the same hush and feeling of the sacred that accompany a newborn’s birth into this world. It is a similar honor to be with someone in their departure out of it. The feeling of it lingers and deepens our awareness of our light and our own eternal natures.
Sharing that light and love with you,
Mayet Leilani
PS -The family incurred many expenses not covered by insurance and some of you may want to make a financial gift to them. Here is their GoFundMe link. Alternatively, you can email me if you’d like to know how to donate directly to them by check or transfer. I know it would be gratefully accepted.
