The portal
(Final tenderness at the threshold of beyond)
By Sophie Rouméas

Her breathing intensifies
then shortens.
The silence around grows dense.
Is one ever ready?
I must gather my courage.

She has no choice,
no time to wait for me.
I will never again
see her eyes open.

We rehearsed this moment
two days ago.
I opened the gate
to what I already knew.

Three days earlier,
she had asked me:
— "What should I do?"

Follow the light.
Even if you can’t yet see it—
The soul knows.

Soon, love will begin to guide you.
Follow their voices
through the unknown.

My right hand on her navel,
my left reaching toward the unseen threshold.
I shape the portal.
The energy thickens.
Time slows.

I encourage you,
you who are leaving.
I call those who love you,
from the other side.

Your soul is already floating.
Inhale.
Exhale.

I cry.
I stay with you.
I do not hold you back.
Flowers.
Birds.
Your beautiful music.

Inhale.
Exhale.
Inhale.
Ex—

An infinite time opens.
Then that sound.
That final sound
I will never forget.

Your breath closes forever.
I cry,
And I let you go.

I remember the guide:
“The spirit may wish to return.
Send it back.”

I stand before the mirror—
the one where she used to fix her hair.

From there I see her body,
Life just barely faded.
I don't want her to wander.

I search for her drifting spirit.
I lead it
back to the portal,
which closes
on this final exchange.

Stay present.
Hold the calm.
Do everything slowly,
with gentleness.

For you who left
with so much grace.

Continue breathing
here—
while you, my loving aunt,
softly begin your path of light.

Thank you.
For trusting in my presence
as you neared the end of your days.
Thank you for showing me the way of dignity
up to your final breath.
Thank you for who you were,
who you are,
and who you will remain
in my heart and memory.


These gestures—placing a hand on the belly, watching from the mirror—were given to me by a soul-passer, whispered from the depths of an ancient knowing.
This poem honors them, and all those who guide from the shadows, without title, with presence and love as their only tools.

May these words support you,
if you are ever that gentle hand
on the other shore.