I knew the moment Dr. Timothy Leary had taken his last breath. John, the night hospice nurse, beckoned with his eyes for me to stand by Timothy's bed, and put my fingers on his neck just as his pulse faded and disappeared. My heart filled. The room illuminated. His bedroom was lit with candles and little Christmas lights, his head on a pillow cover painted with a picture of outer space and an astronaut, he was covered in a velvety red blanket. He was wearing an oversized T-shirt that read "If you only have one wish, make it BIG," with BIG in huge red letters. None of us were aware of the camera rolling by his friends from Retnalogic, who organized his website to document his death. His stepson Zach, placed a pink rose petal in his open mouth after most left the room. Each of us spent a moment by his side to give our goodbyes, thanks and love. Everyone there represented every feeling one could have about death and dying, passing through and moving on. Some smiled, some meditated in silence, some cried. The passing of Timothy Leary, that particular soul, that part of all of us, was, is, a very special passing. His reminders so profound.

One afternoon, his assistant, Vicki Marshal, and I asked him what he wanted to do with his body. He said that he wanted to be cremated, and that he wanted me to get his ashes into space. I've accepted this mission, with the joy he expressed as he ordered it. An essence of Timothy's ashes will be launched on board the Pegasus rocket, organized by the first entrepreneurial space burial company in Houston, Texas, Celestis, Inc., in late September or in October, from Vandenberg Air Force Base. (The entire fee for space burial is only $4800.) Timothy was thrilled to hear that he will be launched along with other space pioneers including Gene Rodenberry, creator of "Star Trek," Dr. Gerard O'Neill, author of "The High Frontier" and physist at Princeton University who designed fabulous space stations and who educated us about the mass driver which can mine the moon and asteroids, and Todd Hauley, of the International Space University.

When he saw the three minute Celestis video, he jumped up and down in his wheelchair, ecstatic as he watched the burst of light caused by the burn-up of the rocket stage to which he'll be attached when it re-enters the earth's atmosphere. He was, also, glad to learn he wouldn't become space debris. When he looked so relieved as he said, "Finally, I'll be a space pioneer, and everyone will know: That will be me. I will be the light," I knew this was the very moment when he decided to take the step, to release himself from his body.

What was once a dynamic and voluptious body housing this magnificent brain and spirit, was now thin, bruised and frail, with patches to cover holes in his legs from sores that wouldn't heal, housing the same incredible brain and spirit. A unique nurse, Cathy, a former dominatrix, was invited to visit because it was thought by his stepson and friends, for a fleeting minute or two, that he might enjoy having pretty nurses with short uniforms and garter belts holding his medicine, or wearing bikini's or anything he wanted, as they would care for him and talk him into behaving and taking his medicine, etc., and he had fired other nurses during the past few days. After she shaved him, he drove up next to me his wheelchair and asked for a mirror. He stared for a several minutes, contemplating, then said sadly and with a touch of astonishment, "This isn't me. I don't know this face." I held my heart and wanted to cry. He did cry, that night, in my arms.

His wonderful friends came to visit, though he had begun to retreat more and more, after Robert Anton Wilson and his wife, Arlin, visited, and he had to ask me who they were. He forgot. I told him not to worry, as he remembered me, so he wasn't so far out there.

A few days before he passed, I asked him, "Who are we?" He said, "We are bearers of the light - light bearers. "What is our purpose?" I asked. "We can shine it to illuminate others."

Two mornings before, as he awakened and sat on the side of his bed, his eyes winked as they twinkled when he smiled and sang a whisper, "I've had a sneak preview."

The morning before, the hospice nurse, Doris Angel, helped him into his electric wheelchair so she could freshen his bed. He proceeded to wheel himself outside to visit his year, the palm trees he described as tall basketball players, the flowers, his dog and cat. Then, he got back into bed, and began his slow breathing process.

Years ago, Timothy had listed me in the Genetic Hall of Fame in his book, the Intelligence Agents, with people he called "evolutionary agents" who were working for human evolution into space. I'll never forget his Leary SMILE, which he said stands for SM, Space Migration, the I is squared and stands for Intelligence Increase, and the LE stands for Life Exstension.

I asked, "why have you asked me to stay with you during the last weeks before you die?" He told me he called because I was the only person he could think of who doesn't listen to anything he says, and he thought he would need a friend like that as he got closer. I believe he was right. He was always a little grumpy, and this trait amplified as the pain got worse and he became more impatient and frustrated. I paid no attention when he'd ask me to leave, as I knew it was because he was feeling a sense of losing his dignity, and he thanked me every night as I'd lay down next to him to sleep. He had such a strong, happy-go-lucky personality in front of everyone, and that was mostly how he felt. He was truly looking forward to the death experience. But the pain was extraordinary, and he did the best he could to eleviate it and to stay conscious. The nights were long, lonely, and sometimes weird, different from anything he had ever experienced, or I had ever experienced. Words cannot describe how lucky I was to have been there for, and with him, during those dark hours.

AT 75, Dr. Timothy Leary consciously passed on with a smile on his face, at 12:44 A.M., May 31, 1996. Or, is he "on the outside looking in?" as the Moody Blues sing.

The day before he died, he handed me a balloon, and said, "This is my last balloon. The last one I'll ever do." He was breathing nitrous oxide to help eleviate the pain of his cancer. He knew this was the time for him to pass on, and literally chose the next day to begin the process.

I feel as though I was there so I could share his messages with you. Timothy touched so many millions of people. He received 35,000 people on his web site, and nearly 9,000 emails around this time. Some people have tried to discredit Timothy, or believe he represented or did something bad, but those people didn't know him, or listen to what he was saying. They have closed minds, live in fear of truth, and likely have never experimented with raising their consciousness or becoming aware of their spirituality. He opened our minds, freed our nervous systems of their normal patterns and structures, and expanded our consciousness to receive new, evolutionary perspectives and the possibilities of creating realities and reality shifts. He reminded us that we are free, we are love, we are one, and we shall speak and live our truth. His final teaching was that death is a joyous, wonderful experience, another phase of life's journey.

He allowed me to tape his last interview, and he said, "My life work has been to empower the individual. To free herself or himself. To grow and be more free. Today we move into the next place ... use light to enjoy space for individuals. Ride the light into space with your friends! Light is the language of the sun and the stars where we will meet again."