Concerning my Dad's passing, it had been anticipated for some time as his heart had been failing over a period of years and he also had Parkinson's. While I was away on a long trip, he had a minor heart attack and ended up in acute care. He had wanted to die for some time - we had talked about it. Now in the hospital, he had the opportunity to let go because he hated it there. Unfortunately, the medical authorities kept trying to keep him alive! When I arrived, he had been there for a month, getting weaker every day. I took one look and said "Dad, we're going home". The next day, he came home by ambulance. My daughter arrived from Edmonton the same day and with her tender young assistance and my Mum's more tentative help, we nursed him and loved him for three days. He died on the third evening. My daughter and I sang lullabies and old songs we had sung together when I was a child. But the song which I sang most (the one which kept coming up in my heart) was "Home, Home on the Range". My Dad had grown up in Saskatchewan. My Mum said he hated it there but as I sang this song, gently, as though it was a lullaby, I felt that it represented a deep acceptance and forgiveness for my Dad and a true "coming home". Looking after my Dad was a precious gift and the music was a large part of the healing transition.