If you ask Renee Moor what inspired her to found Journey Home, a non-profit community service dedicated to “empowered living and dying,” she can list many ways her own life has prepared her. It began with proving herself after being told, as a late-developing child, that the best she could hope for was assisted living; it continued through two decades as a behavioural therapist helping parents cope with autism diagnoses for their children; it carried on through her practices as a Buddhism psychotherapist, a student and instructor of yoga, and as a master in the art of reiki healing. But even these, compounded by the deaths of her father and husband within 18 months of each other, don’t complete the story.
The experiences that locked into place the final piece of Renee’s life puzzle came in her dreams.
“My dad just kept coming and coming in my dreams and guiding me,” says Renee of the years after her father’s death. Seated in the space she has created for people to meet, share, and learn from each other as they go through their individual experiences with death and dying, Renee is relaxed and confident. “In all my twists and turns of life,” she says, “I found my way.”
Already a reiki master and busy yoga instructor at the onset of the Covid pandemic, Renee found herself in the same situation as many: cut off from her livelihood and society in general. It was in those dark days alone at home, with the time to fully process the loss of those she loved, that she began to thoroughly embrace the practices of meditation embedded in both yoga and Buddhism. Then came a series of visions and vivid dreams that inspired her to train as a death doula.
Much like a childbirth doula, a death doula supports a dying person and their family through the dying process, first by helping them gain information and insight, by connecting them with available medical and community supports, and finally by helping make the final moments a positive experience.
“I saw a huge gap in services, because doctors and nurses focus on treatment; funeral homes and crematoriums focus on the remains—but, there’s no one there for the death.”
In contrast, says Renee, her father showed his family that death can be beautiful. “He made his dying about us and we made his dying about him.
“He knew he had six months to live after his diagnosis of pancreatic cancer, and after his fear, anger and sadness, he chose acceptance and love. Each day he showed up to life as fully as he could, both on his good days and his bad days.
“We as a family have beautiful, funny and grateful memories of the season my dad died. After his dying, I wanted everyone to experience a death like this, but life had other plans for me then.”
As time went on, though, says Renee, “He kept coming to me in dreams and meditations. He would offer the most profound philosophies, and now I see he was preparing me. As I opened my heart and mind, his message became clearer to me.”
Renee looks back on three dreams as pivotal to placing her where she is now. One came not long after her father’s death, where she saw him striding down a rocky slope with arms wide open. “Don’t worry about me,” he called to her. “I’m in a better place.”
Some time later, as Renee’s life went through more changes and she began to focus her energy on services for those touched by death and dying, her father appeared in another dream. He asked her to meet him on Dundas Street, which is a stretch of highway that connects the city of Hamilton in Ontario, Canada, with the city of Toronto, about 65-kilometres away. For Renee at the time, this location was symbolic of her life adventures up until then.
As she walked down the street to meet him, a large building seemingly made of white lights guided her toward him. Again, her father held his arms open to her and she ran to him. As they met, Renee’s car keys caught in the back of the sweater he was wearing. As her older sister helped disentangle them, Renee’s father said, “Don’t worry. We all get a little lost sometimes, but now you’ve found your way.”
Soon after that dream, Renee became aware of a location for rent in a small town next door to Hamilton. Surveying the bright, high-ceilinged space inside a large heritage building in the centre of the community, Renee knew this was the perfect location for Journey Home. As she stepped back outside and looked toward the main street, she understood the true force of that dream: Journey Home would be located in a town called Dundas.
Not only that. As a student and instructor of yoga, Renee knew that the entanglement at the back of her father’s neck had significance. It sits opposite the throat chakra which represents how we express ourselves, how we listen and how we communicate. For Renee, Journey Home is more than a suite of services for an underserved segment of the population; Journey Home is her means of expression.
All the same, championing an organization whose services centre around death and dying is a daunting prospect. While people who work in hospice care and a handful of medical professionals understand the value she brings to her community, the majority of health practitioners have not been so receptive. Despite having established a board of directors, together with a group of supporters and co-workers to help ensure Journey Home’s success, there are days when she feels very alone.
But, says Renee, her father has an answer for that, too. In another dream, she came upon him carrying large sacks of flour up a stairway. “I’ll do the heavy lifting,” he told her. “You just keep baking the bread.”
Editor’s Note: Until recently, the retail space next door to Journey Home was occupied by a thriving business called The Village Bakery.
The Meaning of Forever Project continues to accept stories of comforting experiences with loved ones who have passed on, and of near-death experiences that have helped to show the continuation of life beyond the physical body. You can email your story to us atthemeaningofforever@gmail.com and you can find more about our project on our Facebook page, and our Meaning of Forever Website.