Understanding Compassion Fatigue for Caregivers

Hooooo boy.  I ask you to please go into this post with an open mind and heart.

If you’ve ever cared for someone through illness, decline, or the end of life, you know how much heart it requires. Caregiving asks for patience, presence, and a bottomless well of compassion. But here’s the hard truth: even the most loving caregiver’s well can run dry. That’s where compassion fatigue comes in.

What Is Compassion Fatigue?

Compassion fatigue is often described as “the cost of caring.” It’s what happens when you give so much of your empathy, attention, and energy that you begin to feel emotionally depleted. Unlike burnout (which is more about being overwhelmed by tasks and demands), compassion fatigue shows up in your heart. It’s the emotional exhaustion that comes from constantly showing up for someone else’s suffering.  Guys I have been here.

Caregivers experiencing compassion fatigue might notice:

• Feeling numb or detached when you used to feel tender and patient.

• Irritability or resentment toward the person you’re caring for (followed by guilt for feeling that way).

• Trouble sleeping or feeling constantly tired.

• A sense of hopelessness or questioning your purpose.
  

None of these signs mean you’re a “bad” caregiver. They mean you’re human.

Why Caregivers Are at Risk

Caregivers are especially vulnerable because they’re often carrying both practical and emotional weight. You’re not just managing medications, appointments, and daily tasks; you’re also witnessing decline, suffering, or even approaching death. Add in the pressure of balancing your own life, family, or work, and it’s no wonder compassion fatigue creeps in.

Many caregivers also feel they can’t admit they’re struggling. They believe they have to “stay strong” or that asking for help means they’re failing. This silence only deepens the fatigue.

The Consequences of Ignoring It

Left unaddressed, compassion fatigue can chip away at your health, relationships, and ability to keep caregiving. It can lead to depression, anxiety, and chronic stress symptoms in your body. And perhaps most heartbreaking; it can steal away the ability to fully connect with the very person you love and are caring for.

Steps Toward Healing

The good news? Compassion fatigue isn’t permanent. It’s a signal, not a life sentence. Here are a few ways to begin addressing it:

1. Acknowledge It: The first step is simply admitting it’s happening. Naming compassion fatigue takes the shame out of it.

2. Set Boundaries: Saying no, asking for respite, or carving out personal time isn’t selfish.  It’s necessary. Boundaries protect both you and the person you’re caring for.

3. Lean on Support: Join a caregiver support group, talk to a counselor, or connect with friends who understand. Sharing the load lightens it.

4. Tend to Your Body:  Sleep, hydration, movement, and nutrition matter more than you think. Your body is the container that holds your care and you can’t pour from an empty one.

5. Recenter on Meaning: Compassion fatigue often blurs your sense of purpose. Reconnecting with why you’re caring, remembering the love behind the labor, can help you find your footing again.
   

A Final Word to Caregivers

Compassion fatigue doesn’t mean you’re weak or failing. It means you’ve been giving deeply and generously, maybe without enough refilling of your own cup. If you’re noticing the signs, please hear this: it’s okay to step back, to rest, and to receive care yourself.

Because caregiving is a marathon, not a sprint. And the best way to walk it is with compassion not just for others, but for yourself.

If you feel yourself hitting fatigue or burnout and need an ear, I am here to help

The Emotional Impact of Deathbed Regrets

When people are nearing the end of life, conversations often become stripped down to what really matters. The masks fall away, the busywork of daily life loses its importance, and what’s left are the raw truths of love, loss, and unfortunately, sometimes regret.

As a death doula, I’ve sat beside beds where laughter filled the room, and I’ve sat beside beds where the air was heavy with words unspoken. Regret, in particular, can cast a long shadow in those final days, not just for the dying person but for the loved ones gathered around them.

The Weight of “If Only”

Regret often shows up as unfinished business:

• If only I had worked less and spent more time with family.

• If only I had said “I love you” more often.

• If only I had been brave enough to live the life I wanted.

Oddly enough, no one has ever said “I wish I'd not missed that one meeting.”  These “if only” statements carry enormous emotional weight. For the dying person, they can feel like missed opportunities that can’t be undone. For loved ones, hearing these regrets can stir up guilt, sadness, or a desperate wish to turn back time.

The Ripple Effect on Families

Deathbed regrets don’t exist in a vacuum. When someone shares their regrets aloud, it often lands heavily on family members. A parent regretting not showing enough affection may leave their child questioning whether they were truly loved. A partner expressing sorrow over wasted time can leave their spouse wrestling with resentment or unresolved anger.

These regrets can become part of the grief that follows.  And sometimes motivating survivors to live differently, but sometimes creating new wounds to carry.

What Regrets Teach Us About Living

Here’s the paradox: while regrets can be painful, they can also shine a light on what truly matters. They remind us that time is finite and that our priorities aren’t always aligned with our values.

One of the most common regrets are things like working too much, neglecting relationships, silencing dreams.  This offers all of us a mirror. They ask: Are we living in a way that will feel complete when the end comes?

Instead of brushing off deathbed regrets as sad or inevitable, we can use them as a call to action. To say “yes” more often. To mend relationships. To take the trip. To speak the love we often keep to ourselves.

Holding Space for Regret Without Judgment

As doulas, caregivers, and loved ones, one of the greatest gifts we can give is simply holding space for these confessions. The dying don’t always need their regrets fixed (and often, they can’t be). What they need is a witness.  Someone to hear them, acknowledge the weight of their truth, and offer compassion without rushing to make it tidy.  (And no I will not share things that have been said to me, please don’t ask!)

Sometimes that means sitting in silence. Sometimes it’s saying, “I hear you. Thank you for trusting me with that.” And sometimes it’s helping them take small steps toward healing.  Writing a letter, recording a message, or even just naming their wish aloud.

Transforming Regret Into Legacy

Not every regret can be resolved, but even naming it can bring relief. And for loved ones, it can spark more intentional living going forward. Families who hear regrets about lost time together often find themselves re-prioritizing connection. Children who hear a parent’s honesty may feel motivated to live more authentically themselves.

In this way, regrets can become more than burdens.  They can become teachers, shaping the lives of those left behind.

Final Thoughts

Deathbed regrets are painful, but they’re also profoundly human. They remind us that life is fragile, that love and authenticity matter far more than perfection, and that it’s never too late to choose differently.  Until it is.

If you’ve ever wondered how to live without regrets, the truth is you probably can’t. But you can live with awareness, courage, and intention. And when the end comes, that may be enough to soften the weight of “if only” into the peace of “I tried.”

And if you need an ear to talk through some regrets, please reach out.  

Understanding Different Grief Styles

Grief.  We all experience it. But how we grieve? That’s as unique as fingerprints. And yet, many of us expect grief to “look” a certain way: tears, sadness, maybe some time off work, followed by eventual “closure.” (Spoiler: closure isn’t really a thing.) When our grief or someone else’s doesn’t match that expectation, it can leave us feeling judged, isolated, or even like we’re “doing it wrong.”

The truth is, there are different grief styles, and none of them are wrong. Knowing about them can help you make sense of your own process and extend compassion to others.

Intuitive Grievers

Intuitive grievers feel their grief deeply and express it outwardly. They might cry often, want to talk about their loved one frequently, or seek support groups. Their mourning tends to be full of intense emotions rising and falling.

If you’re an intuitive griever: honor your emotions, but also give yourself space to rest. Grief is exhausting, and you don’t need to feel everything all at once to prove your love or loss.

Instrumental Grievers

Instrumental grievers cope by doing. They process their loss through action.  Organizing the funeral, setting up a memorial scholarship, diving into work, or even tackling household projects. They may not cry much (or at all), but that doesn’t mean they aren’t grieving.

If you’re an instrumental griever: remember that productivity isn’t a replacement for emotion. Allow yourself moments of stillness, even if it feels uncomfortable.

Blended Grievers

Most people fall somewhere in the middle. A blended griever might cry one day, then throw themselves into a project the next. They toggle between feeling and doing, depending on the moment.

If you’re a blended griever: pay attention to which side you lean on most, and make sure the other side isn’t being neglected.

Why This Matters

When families don’t understand grief styles, conflict often arises. One sibling might be frustrated that another isn’t showing emotion, while the other feels overwhelmed by constant displays of sadness. Recognizing that different grief styles exist helps ease those tensions. It allows us to see that grief isn’t a contest or a performance. (There is no best griever trophy) It’s simply how each of us navigates the unthinkable.

Supporting Each Other Across Styles

• For intuitive grievers: Be gentle with instrumental folks. Just because they aren’t sobbing doesn’t mean they don’t care.

• For instrumental grievers: Resist the urge to “fix” an intuitive person’s emotions. Sometimes they need to feel it out loud.

• For blended grievers: Use your flexibility as a bridge. You might be able to empathize with both sides and help others feel seen.
  

Final Thoughts

There’s no right way to grieve. There’s just your way. Understanding these styles can give you permission to grieve authentically and help you extend grace to others doing the same. Because in the end, grief isn’t about fitting a mold. It’s about finding your own rhythm in the dance of loss.

If you need help understanding your grief, that’s ok!  Please reach out.

Coping with a Terminal Diagnosis: How a Death Doula Can Help

Few words land as heavily as “terminal diagnosis.” It can feel like the ground opens up right underneath you.  And now you’re falling with fear, confusion, and a hundred unanswered questions. Whether it’s your diagnosis or a loved one’s, the news shakes your sense of stability and sparks an avalanche of emotions; grief, anger, disbelief, even relief in some cases (yes, that’s normal too!).

So, how do you even begin to cope with something this enormous? And where does a death doula fit into the picture?

Facing the Emotional Rollercoaster

A terminal diagnosis brings an inevitable mix of emotions. Some days, you may feel strong and accepting and ready to fight!  Other days, you might rage against the unfairness of it all. Maybe you want to plan every last detail, or avoid the topic altogether. None of these responses are wrong. They’re part of the messy, nonlinear way we process mortality.

Here’s where a death doula can come in: we don’t come in with a checklist of how you “should” feel. Instead, we hold space for whatever is true for you in the moment. Some days that might mean sitting with you in silence. Other days it could mean listening to your fears, or helping you put words to feelings you didn’t know you had. Having someone outside the swirl of family dynamics can create a safe harbor where your emotions don’t have to be filtered or softened.

Sorting Through Practical Decisions

Alongside the emotional weight comes the mountain of logistics. Medical appointments, treatment options, advance directives, financial planning, funeral arrangements, and even managing all the people who want to come say their goodbyes.  It can all feel crushing. A death doula doesn’t replace doctors, lawyers, or therapists, but we bridge the gaps.

We can walk you through what documents you might want in place, help you communicate your wishes to loved ones, or sit beside you as you draft an advance directive. Think of us as part project manager, part guide: someone to help untangle the knot of “to-dos” so that you and your family can focus on what matters most.

Nurturing Relationships

Terminal illness changes family dynamics. (and boy howdy does it ever) Sometimes it draws people closer; other times, it stirs up old wounds. A death doula can act as a gentle mediator facilitating those tricky conversations, helping loved ones share memories, and encouraging everyone to say what often goes unsaid. These moments can create connection and closure that might otherwise get lost in the chaos of appointments and decline.

We can also encourage creative ways to strengthen bonds: recording legacy projects like letters, videos, or memory books; creating rituals of comfort; or simply carving out intentional time for meaningful conversations.

Supporting Daily Life and Self-Care

Coping isn’t only about the big milestones. It’s also about the day-to-day. Simple things like eating well, resting, or finding moments of joy, often fall to the bottom of the list when a terminal diagnosis takes center stage. A death doula can remind you (and your caregivers) that tending to daily needs isn’t indulgent; it’s essential.

We may suggest small practices like guided relaxation, journaling, or even something as ordinary as sitting outside in the sun for ten minutes. These small acts can become anchors in the storm, giving you moments of presence and peace.

Honoring Your Wishes and Values

Perhaps the most powerful role a death doula plays is making sure your voice stays central. When illness threatens to take away control, it can feel like your autonomy is slipping through your fingers. A doula helps you reclaim that.

Do you want a quiet home death surrounded by family? Do you want music playing, candles lit, or even a football game on in the background? Do you want your memorial to feel like a solemn service or a joyful celebration? These preferences matter. A doula makes sure they’re spoken aloud, documented, and honored.

The Gift of Presence

At the heart of it, death doulas are companions. We’re not here to fix or cure, we’re here to walk alongside. To hold your hand when things feel unbearable, to laugh with you when humor sneaks in, and to remind you that you’re more than a diagnosis. You are still a whole person with stories, choices, and dignity.

Final Thoughts

Coping with a terminal diagnosis will never be easy. It’s heavy, painful, and often unfair. But it doesn’t have to be navigated alone. A death doula can help shoulder some of the weight. Emotionally, practically, and spiritually, so that you and your loved ones can focus less on fear and more on living fully with the time that remains.

Because in the end, coping isn’t just about dying well. It’s about living well, right up until the last breath.

Creating a Personalized Plan for End-of-Life Wishes

*Rubs hands together* I love talking about what I get to do in my work.  Let's dive in!!

Talking about death or end of life feels far away, uncomfortable, or just plain overwhelming for most of us. But here’s the thing: not talking about it doesn’t make it go away. (SPOILER!!  We all die!) What it does is leave your loved ones guessing, sometimes in moments of crisis, about what you would have wanted. Creating a personalized plan for your end-of-life wishes is one of the most loving gifts you can leave behind.

Why Personalization Matters

End-of-life planning isn’t just about checking boxes on a legal form. It’s about reflecting on what you value, what brings you comfort, and what kind of legacy you want to leave. For one person, it might be “I want to be at home, with my dog at the foot of the bed.” For another, it might be “Play music, keep the mood light, and don’t let anyone fight over my collection of cat figurines.” (ahem) These details matter. They shape the way your story closes.

When you take the time to write down your wishes, you give your loved ones the gift of clarity. Instead of making hard choices while second-guessing themselves, they can move through the moment knowing, This is what they wanted. This is how I honor them.

What Goes Into a Plan?

A personalized plan covers more than just medical decisions. Here are some of the bigger areas to consider:

• Medical care: Do you want all possible interventions, or are there limits to what feels right for you? Think about things like resuscitation, life support, feeding tubes or comfort-focused care.

• Environment: Where would you feel most at peace?  At home, in the hospital, somewhere else? Do you want music, prayer, silence, laughter, or something else?

• Practical decisions: Who will handle your finances, your paperwork, your pets? Do you want a funeral, a memorial, or something completely different?

• Legacy and meaning: Are there letters you’d like to leave? Stories you want preserved? Causes you’d like supported in your honor?
  

A plan can be as simple as a few handwritten pages or as detailed as a formal advance directive paired with a personal letter. The point isn’t to create the “perfect” plan, it’s to create your plan.

How to Get Started

Beginning this process doesn’t have to feel heavy. Think of it like storytelling your story.

1. Reflect: Start with questions. What makes you feel safe? What values guide your choices? How do you want to be remembered?

2. Write it down: Memories fade, and stress clouds judgment. Writing ensures your wishes are clear.

3. Choose your people: Identify a health care proxy or power of attorney; someone who will carry your wishes forward when you can’t.  (Make sure they're ok with the job!)

4. Have the conversations: Plans are most powerful when shared. Talk to your loved ones so they understand not just what you want, but why.

5. Review and update: Life changes. So do our perspectives. Revisit your plan every few years to keep it aligned with who you are now.
   
   

The Gift of Peace of Mind

When people talk about end-of-life planning, they often assume it’s depressing. But in truth, it can be liberating and even fun!  Knowing that your wishes are documented and shared allows you to live more fully now. It’s a weight lifted for you and for the people who love you.

I’ve seen families crumble under the pressure of making hard decisions without guidance, and I’ve seen families move through loss with more ease because their loved one had spelled out exactly what mattered most. The difference is striking.

Closing Thought

Creating a personalized plan for end-of-life wishes isn’t about focusing on death. It’s about living in a way that’s aligned with your values, right until the very end. It’s about leaving behind clarity instead of confusion, comfort instead of chaos.  (Guys.  Death gives our lives meaning!)

So, take a deep breath. Pour yourself a cup of tea. Start jotting down what matters most to you. It doesn’t have to be finished today, it just has to begin. Your future self, and your loved ones, will thank you.

If you need some guidance on where to start, check out my workbooks!!  Or reach out to me for help.

Understanding the Impact of Sudden Death vs. Anticipated Death

No two losses are the same. We don't react to any loss the same as we did the last one.  The way grief lands with us often depends on how that death showed up. When someone dies suddenly, it’s a bit like a punch in the face. When death is anticipated, it’s more like a slow dimming of the light. Both leave us in the fumbling dark, just in different ways.

When Death Comes Suddenly

I once heard someone describe sudden death as “being shoved into a room you didn’t know existed, with no lights on and no way back out.” That’s pretty accurate honestly. Shocking and confusing.

If your loved one was here one moment and gone the next, your mind might keep circling the same questions: How can this be real? Did I miss something? Why didn’t I…? What if…? The unfinished conversations and abrupt ending can feel unbearable.  (Remember my post on closure?)

Some people feel anger. Anger at the circumstances, at the randomness of it all, sometimes even at the person who died (“How dare you leave without warning?”). Others feel completely numb, as if the world has gone quiet and blurry. There’s no time to brace yourself, no gradual letting go. It’s just gone.

When Death Is Expected

Anticipated death is different.  It’s more like walking a long road where you can see the horizon. Families navigating terminal illness or the decline of aging often live in two worlds at once: caring for someone who is still here, while quietly grieving the losses already happening along the way.

Maybe you’ve felt it; mourning the fading memory of a parent, the shrinking independence of a spouse, or the changing roles within your family. This is anticipatory grief, and it can be draining because it stretches on and on. You carry sadness alongside caretaking, all while waiting for a moment you don’t want to come.

When death finally arrives, people are often surprised by their own reactions. Relief and sorrow can show up at the same time. Relief that the suffering is over. Sorrow that the goodbye is final. And sometimes guilt sneaks in too: Why am I relieved when I should only feel sad? But here’s the truth: relief does not not mean relief that they are gone. It simply acknowledges the cost of watching someone you care about slowly fade away.

The Differences and Overlap

It’s tempting to wonder which is “easier”: sudden death or anticipated death.  And people ask me this all the time!!  The truth is, neither one is easier or harder. Sudden death leaves you stunned, scrambling to catch up, weighed down with “what ifs.”  While anticipated death stretches your heart thin over time, layering exhaustion and pre-grief long before the end.

Both can feel isolating, especially when the world expects you to “move on” at a pace that doesn’t match your reality.

What Helps 

Grief always needs companionship, but the kind of support can be different.

• In sudden death, what helps most is presence. Sitting with someone in silence, helping with everyday tasks, and resisting the urge to explain or fix.  (YOU CAN’T FIX THIS, DON'T TRY) The shock alone is heavy; your steadiness is the gift.  BE with them and let them feel seen and heard.

• In anticipated death, what helps most is validation. Caregivers may need to hear that their exhaustion, their mix of emotions, even their sense of relief; all of it is normal. Offering breaks, listening without judgment, and staying present after the death matters deeply.  Keep showing up
  

The Common Thread

Whether death arrives suddenly or after a long ending, grief doesn’t follow a schedule. There isn’t a day when your soul suddenly says, “I’m good, all better!” Instead, we carry our love forward in new ways.

If you’re grieving, and your experience doesn’t look like someone else’s, that doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong. It means your story with the person you loved was one-of-a-kind, and so is your grief.

Closing Thought

We don’t get to choose how death comes. But we do get to choose how we show up for one another in its wake. Sometimes that means steadying a friend who has just had their world torn in two. Sometimes it means holding space for a caregiver who is both relieved and devastated at once. In every case, compassion is the bridge between us.

Whether death is sudden or expected, the truth is the same: grief is love, learning to live in a world that looks completely different without the person you lost.

Addressing Common Fears About Dying

“I’m not scared of death.  I'm scared of dying.”  Boy, do I hear this a LOT.

If you’ve been following me for any amount of time you’ve heard me mention that dying is one of those topics most people would rather not touch with a ten-foot pole (or even a slightly shorter pole). We avoid it, we dance around it, we whisper about it behind our hands. And yet it’s the one experience every single one of us will share. If we can talk about birth, taxes, and whatever horror is lurking in our email inboxes, we can talk about death, too.

When people do finally open up about it, the same fears seem to show up again and again. And while each fear is deeply personal, there are some universal threads that weave through our human worries. Let’s take a look at a few of the most common fears about dying, and how we might soften them.

Fear #1: The Pain

When people think about dying, their first fear is often: Will it hurt?

The truth: sometimes dying involves discomfort, but there’s a lot we can do to manage it. Modern medicine has come a long way in making end-of-life care more comfortable. Hospice and palliative care teams specialize in pain management.  Not just physical pain, but also emotional, spiritual, and even relational pain.

What helps:

• Asking early for palliative or hospice support. You don’t have to wait until the “last days” for comfort care.  (In fact the worst choice is to wait too long!)

• Remembering that “dying” is a process, not a single dramatic moment. Pain tends to ebb and flow, and there are ways to ease it.

• Trusting your care team to advocate for you.  You do not have to suffer in silence.
  

Fear #2: Losing Control/Dignity

Dying can feel like the ultimate loss of control. Bodies change, independence shifts, and even making decisions can get harder. For people who’ve lived their lives calling all the shots, this can be terrifying.  (Me over here avoiding eye contact…..)

What helps:

• Advance care planning. Writing down your wishes (through advance directives, living wills, and conversations with your loved ones) keeps your voice present, even when you can’t speak.

• Choosing your environment. Many people don’t realize they have options: at home, in hospice centers, sometimes even in places that feel comforting and familiar.

• Focusing on small choices. Even if you can’t control the big picture, little decisions,  like what music plays, who visits, how your space is arranged, can matter deeply.
  

Fear #3: The Unknown

Even people of strong faith sometimes whisper: But what if I’m wrong? What if it’s just…nothing? That fear of the great unknown is wired into us. Our brains like certainty, and death is the biggest mystery of all.

What helps:

• Naming it out loud. Fear often grows in the dark but shrinks in the light of conversation.  What’s your worst fear?  What is your hope?

• Exploring your beliefs. Whether spiritual, religious, or philosophical, leaning into what feels true to you can provide grounding.

• Letting go of needing “proof.” Sometimes peace comes not from having the answers, but from leaning into the mystery.
  

Fear #4: Leaving Loved Ones Behind

For many, the hardest part isn’t dying.  It’s knowing we’ll leave people we love to grieve. Parents worry about children. Partners worry about spouses. Friends worry about friends.

What helps:

• Honest conversations. Saying the things that need to be said (“I love you,” “I’m proud of you,” “Please delete my browser history”) can bring peace.

• Legacy projects. Writing letters, recording stories, passing down recipes or traditions.  These can become anchors for loved ones.

• Trusting that grief, while heavy, is survivable. Humans are heartbreakingly resilient.
  

Fear #5: Being Alone

Dying can feel isolating. There’s a worry that no one will be there, or that others won’t understand what you’re experiencing.

What helps:

• Community support. Hospice volunteers, doulas, spiritual counselors, and loved ones can sit vigil.

• Ritual and presence. Sometimes it’s less about words and more about someone simply being there.  Holding a hand, offering silence, bearing witness.  (Hi!  Death Doulas can help here!)

• Reminding yourself: even if the final breaths are taken alone, you are never truly forgotten. Your life has already woven itself into countless others.
  

Fear #6: Dying “Badly”

We live in a culture that doesn’t show death often.  When it does, it’s usually dramatic, tragic, or messy and just unrealistic. People worry about losing dignity, about not having their wishes respected, or about their death being “too much” for others to handle.

What helps:

• Education. The more we understand what dying actually looks like, the less frightening it feels.

• Support systems. A death doula, hospice team, or trusted advocate can help ensure things unfold as close to your wishes as possible.

• Redefining dignity. Dignity isn’t about perfection; it’s about being cared for with respect and love, no matter the circumstances.
  

So, What Do We Do With These Fears?

The point isn’t to erase fear. Fear is so normal!!  It tells us we care about our lives, our loved ones, our sense of self. The point is to acknowledge it, name it, and then find ways to soften it so it doesn’t keep us from living fully while we’re here.

Talking about death doesn’t make it come faster (I promise!!). But it does make it less terrifying. The more we can name our fears, the more we can prepare, and the more room we have for peace, connection, and yes, even moments of joy at the end.

Because here’s the truth: death isn’t just an ending. It’s also a passage. And while none of us get to skip it, we do get to choose how we walk toward it.  Afraid and alone, or with courage, humor, and the love of those who walk beside us.

If your fear is getting the best of you and you just need someone to listen, please reach out.  

You Don’t Need Closure, You Need Space

Our culture is obsessed with “closure.” People want a neat bow tied around messy endings: the final conversation, the goodbye ritual, the explanation that makes it all make sense. Closure is sold to us like it’s a finish line you can sprint across, complete with balloons, confetti, and a medal that says Congratulations, you’re over it now!

But here’s the hard truth: closure is mostly a myth. What you actually need is space.

Closure is a Door Slam. Space is a Window Opening.

Closure implies finality.  If you just do this one more thing or have that one more conversation, or understand that one more reason, you’ll feel all resolved and ready to go about life. But grief doesn’t work like that. Life doesn’t work like that. We rarely get tidy explanations for the messes that rearrange our hearts.

Think about the times you’ve lost someone you love, whether through death, estrangement, or just the slow drifting apart that life sometimes demands. Did closure ever arrive in a perfect package? Did it erase the ache? Or did it leave you frustrated that the story still felt unfinished?

Space, on the other hand, is expansive. It’s permission. It’s not about shutting a door but about giving your heart room to breathe inside the new reality. You don’t have to understand it all, you just have to make room for what is.

Why Closure Keeps Us Stuck

The hunt for closure often backfires. It can trap us in loops of questions with no satisfying answers: Why did this happen? What could I have done differently?  What would they say if I could ask them one more thing?

Those are pretty normal questions, but if we believe that “closure” is waiting for us at the end of them, we’re signing up for disappointment. Closure demands we fix something that was never meant to be fixed. Space, instead, allows the wound to heal without demanding it vanish.

What Does Space Look Like, Then?

So what does it mean to give yourself space instead of chasing closure?

• Time without pressure. Space is stepping back from the urgency to “feel better” or move on. It’s acknowledging that grief operates on its own schedule, not one you can pencil into your planner.  (Yes I still use a paper planner, I’m that old)

• Physical and emotional breathing room. Space might mean setting boundaries with people who keep telling you how you should be doing. (“Have you tried going for a walk?” “Maybe you just need to forgive and forget.”) Sometimes space looks like muting them on social media or skipping the family gathering.

• Letting the story be incomplete. Maybe you never got the apology you deserved. Maybe you didn’t get to say goodbye. Maybe you don’t know why it ended the way it did. Space means living with that gap and not forcing yourself to stitch it closed with false explanations.

• Expanding into new meaning. Space is what allows you to carry your loss with you, not as a heavy burden, but as something woven into your story. You don’t “get over” it, you grow around it.
  

Closure is a Trap. Space is Freedom.

The reason closure feels so alluring is because it promises certainty. We want the pain to have an end point. But certainty is a flimsy thing; it doesn’t exist in relationships, in grief, in love, in loss. What does exist is capacity.  Our human ability to expand, to make space inside ourselves for what hurts and what heals.

You don’t need closure. You don’t need the bow tied, the door slammed, the “thank you for playing” end credits. You need space to be in process, to let grief stretch out on the couch next to you without demanding it leave. You need space to evolve, to carry your loss without having it define your entire existence.

Making Space in Real Life

If you’re wondering where to begin, here are some good places to start:

• When you feel that urge for closure rising up (“If only I had answers, I’d feel better”), pause. Name it for what it is: the longing for certainty.

• Ask yourself instead: What space do I need right now? Maybe it’s a quiet afternoon with no obligations. Maybe it’s a messy journal entry. Maybe it’s telling a trusted friend that you don’t need advice, just listening.

• Remember: space is an ongoing practice, not a one-time fix.
  

Closure is a locked room. Space is a field. Which sounds like a better place to heal?

How to Handle Family Tensions at the End of Life

Death doesn’t just bring one person’s life to a close.  That would be too easy.  Unfortunately, the death of a loved one often stirs up an entire family’s unresolved business. Old sibling rivalries, differences in values, guilt, and fear have a way of crawling out of the woodwork the moment a loved one is dying. And honestly? It can get messy. I’ve sat with families who were holding vigil one moment and arguing over funeral flowers the next. I’ve seen decades-old grudges reignited at the hospital bedside. If you’ve been through it, you know exactly what I mean.

The truth is, end-of-life isn’t just about medical decisions and logistics.  If it was, I wouldn’t be here writing this.  End-of-life is about navigating relationships under enormous emotional strain. So how do you handle family tensions when the stakes are this high?  I get asked about this a LOT so here are some thoughts from a  death doula.

What’s Really Going On Here?

Conflict around the end of life often isn’t about the surface issue. The fight over which hymn to play at the funeral isn’t really about music, it’s about someone feeling unseen, unheard, or unappreciated. The tension over who gets Mom’s wedding ring might really be about unhealed wounds of favoritism or neglect.

When you can pause and name the deeper layer; “I think this is more about us wanting to feel close to Dad than about which rehab facility we choose”.  You take some of the sting out of the argument. People may still disagree, but at least the real heartache is on the table.

Sometimes it takes an impartial 3rd party to ask these questions.  

What’s Worth Fighting For

Not every hill is worth dying on (pun FULLY intended). At the end of life, you’ll find yourself at crossroads: What kind of care does your loved one receive? Where will they be buried? Who gives the eulogy? These decisions matter, but not all of them matter equally.

Ask yourself: “Will this choice still matter to me a year from now?” If the answer is no, maybe it’s worth stepping back. Sometimes the most loving thing you can do is let go of being right and choose peace over winning.

We all make the best decisions with the information we have in that moment.  We don’t know how everything will play out in the end.

Create Clear Roles

One of the biggest sources of tension is confusion about who’s in charge. If there’s no clear power of attorney, no advance directive, or no spokesperson, suddenly everyone feels entitled to make decisions, and chaos quickly follows.

If possible, encourage your loved one to clarify who holds decision-making power before things get urgent. If it’s already too late for that, try to assign roles: one person handles communication with the care team, another organizes meals, another keeps extended family updated. Clear responsibilities can diffuse power struggles.

Bring in a Neutral Party

Sometimes the best move is to call in backup. A hospice social worker, chaplain, or even a death doula (oh hello there!) can help mediate difficult conversations. Families are often more willing to hear hard truths when they come from someone who isn’t carrying 40 years of history with them.

Don’t underestimate the power of having a calm, compassionate outsider in the room. They can hold space, translate medical jargon, and help everyone remember that the person dying, not the argument, is the real center of the moment.

Expect Emotions to Run High

When someone is dying, the air is charged with grief, fear, love, and regret. Of course people are going to say things they don’t mean or snap under pressure. Expecting everyone to behave perfectly is a recipe for disappointment.

It helps to reframe tense moments: “This isn’t about them being difficult; this is about them being heartbroken.” That doesn’t excuse harmful behavior, but it reminds you that pain is often the root. Sometimes just softening your interpretation can soften your response.

Keep the Focus on Love and Legacy

At the end of the day, most people want the same thing: to honor their loved one, to show up with love, and to feel like they did right by them. Remind each other of that shared goal when things get heated.

You might say: “Let’s not lose sight of the fact that Dad wanted us to be together. This moment is bigger than our disagreements.” Or, “We’re all grieving in our own ways, but what matters most is that Mom feels our love.” Anchoring back to love can reset the tone, even if just for a moment.

Final Thoughts

Handling family tensions at the end of life isn’t about creating a perfect, conflict-free experience. (If only)  It’s about remembering that grief makes us raw, scared, and sometimes unreasonable.  And then choosing compassion anyway.

If you’re in the middle of this right now, take a deep breath. You’re not alone, and you don’t have to navigate every landmine perfectly. Focus on what you can do: show up for your loved one, protect your own well-being, and keep steering the family, however imperfectly, toward love.

Because when the dust settles, most people don’t remember who won the argument about flowers. They remember the tenderness, the hands held, the quiet presence in the room. That’s the legacy worth fighting for.

If you need someone to help navigate trick conversations with your family, please reach out. 

Leaving a Legacy

Let’s talk about legacy!  This is one of my favorite things to do as a doula. I don't mean the fancy kind of legacy made for bronze plaques in stuffy libraries on a college campus. I’m talking about the real kind. The kind made of stories, scribbled notes, terrible jokes, worn-out recipes, and that weird humming sound your dad made when he was concentrating.

Legacy is what sticks when the body gives out and the casseroles stop coming. It’s what whispers, “I was here. I mattered. And here’s how you’ll remember me.”

If you’re dying, or loving someone who is, it can feel like time’s running out on all the things that still need saying. But that’s where legacy projects come in: part healing, part connection, part time capsule of the soul.

This is your permission to make something that lasts.

Ok Nikki, What Is this Legacy Project, Exactly?

A legacy project is anything that helps a person nearing death leave a meaningful imprint for those they love. It doesn’t have to be deep or spiritual (though it can be). It just has to be true.

It could be a letter. A quilt. A playlist. A garden. A recipe book with exactly zero measurements but very strong opinions about paprika. A story told into a phone and passed down through headphones and holidays.

The best ones aren’t fancy; they’re personal.

Why Legacy Projects Matter (Even If You Hate Crafty Stuff)

1. They give the dying person agency.
So much is taken from someone near the end: independence, privacy, control, even dignity. A legacy project gives some of that back. It says, “You still have something to give. You still have a voice.”

2. They help families start grieving with the person, not just after them.
There’s nothing like hearing your mom tell you what she really wants you to remember. Or watching your grandfather write his childhood stories in a shaky hand. It's heartbreaking, and healing.

3. They offer a place to put the love.
When you can’t fix or cure, you create. Legacy projects give caregivers and loved ones something to do that actually matters.

I’ve sat with families who are helping to record legacies and watching them all come together and reminisce is so utterly beautiful. 

Legacy Project Ideas (It doesn’t have to be a scrapbook!)

• Letters to the Future: Write one to each grandkid, or one for every big milestone (weddings, graduations, bad breakups, Mondays).

• Voice Memos or Video Diaries: Doesn’t have to be fancy. Just talk. Tell stories. Rant about your favorite shows. Say their names.  (Ahem: My Last Farewell)

• Recipe Box with Commentary: “Add garlic. No, more than that. No, more.”

• A Book of “Things I Wish I’d Said”: This one stings but wow, is it powerful.

• Handprint Art with Kids: Not just for preschoolers. It’s visceral. It’s physical. It's something to touch later when everything feels too quiet.

• Playlist of a Life: Songs that shaped them, comforted them, or made them dance like a fool in the kitchen.

• A "How-To" Book: For literally anything. How to fold the laundry the right way. (spoiler: hang everything or just wad it up. You’re welcome) How to deal with grief. How to love someone when they’re dying.
  

Things to Remember While Creating

1. It’s not about being profound, it’s about being real.
You don’t need perfect grammar or poetic metaphors. You need heart. Say the awkward stuff. Include the bad jokes.

2. Let it be messy.
Legacy isn’t clean. It’s complicated and beautiful and often a little bittersweet. That’s the point.

3. It's okay if it’s unfinished.
We all are, really. Leave room for the people you love to continue the story.

Legacy projects are not homework. They’re love letters disguised as whatever form you want them to take. They won’t fix the heartbreak of losing someone, but they do soften the edges. They give people something to hold, to hear, to remember.

And when the grief gets loud, those projects will whisper back:
"I was here. I loved you. You mattered to me."

Question to Ponder:
If you could leave behind one thing for the people who love you (a note, a lesson, a piece of you) what would it be? And what’s stopping you from starting it today?

Hey You, Who’s Still Very Much Alive: Write Your Damn Obituary

Yeah, I said it. Write your own obituary. Not because you’re morbid. Not because you’re being dramatic. But because it’s yours!  Your story, your weird quirks, your inside jokes, your favorite snacks, your hard-won wisdom. Why would you leave that up to someone else to cobble together while they’re knee-deep in casseroles and funeral brochures?

Writing your own obituary isn’t about giving up. It’s about claiming the mic before the final curtain. It’s an act of rebellion against erasure. It’s also a surprisingly powerful way to get real with yourself while you’re still here to do something about it.

::Cue Shia LaBeouf screaming “JUST DO IT!”::

Why You Should Write Your Obituary While You’re Still Breathing

1. It’s the ultimate reflection exercise.
Forget goal-setting journals and vision boards for a second. Writing your own obit forces you to answer the big stuff: Who are you, really? What have you actually done with your time? What do you hope people remember? It’s like Marie Kondo-ing your life!  Keep the stuff that sparks legacy, toss the rest.

2. You get to own your narrative.
Listen, if you don’t write it, your third cousin or your frazzled spouse might, between grief spirals and figuring out who’s bringing the deviled eggs to the wake. And they’ll probably leave out the weird and wonderful stuff that makes you you. Like how you once convinced your entire office to wear Halloween costumes in March. Or how you taught your kids to swear responsibly. Or how you cried every time you heard “Moon River.”  (I will not apologize for this)

3. It’s a gift to your people.
Grief is already heavy. Trying to summarize a person in three paragraphs while sobbing into Kleenex is cruel and unusual punishment. Writing your own saves them that pain. It gives them something to hold onto, a bit of your voice in the middle of the fog.

How to Actually Do It

First off: No, writing your obituary does not mean you’re going to die tomorrow. But it does mean you’re living with intention today.

Here’s how to start:

Step 1: Say the boring stuff first.
Get it out of the way. Name, birth date, where you were raised, family stuff. You can jazz it up later if you want (“Born under a Sagittarius moon in a blizzard, which explains a lot”). Note: BE CAREFUL ABOUT SECURE INFORMATION.  Identity theft of the deceased is stupid, but happens a lot.

Step 2: Talk about your people.
Who loved you? Who did you love? (Yes, include your cat if she’s been your ride-or-die since 2009.)

Step 3: Brag a little.
What are you proud of? Could be the business you built, the garden you obsessed over, or that time you won $50 at trivia night for knowing all the Spice Girls’ real names. (That counts.)

Step 4: Tell the truth.
Were you flawed? Good. Own it. Did you try anyway? Even better. Don’t write a LinkedIn summary. Write something that sounds like the real you. If you were a pain in the ass but also deeply loyal, say that.  (Hi.  I’m a pan in the ass)

Step 5: Leave a message.
This is the part people will cling to. Offer a line of comfort. A joke. A curse on whoever keeps mispronouncing your name. Or something tender, like “Love fiercely, nap often, and never turn down cookies.”

Real Talk

You don’t need to finish it today. You don’t need to make it perfect. Just start. Open a Google Doc. Jot notes on a napkin. Talk it out into your phone like a voice memo from the beyond.  Heck, have Chat GPT get you started.

Because one day, someone will look for your words. They’ll need them. And if you’ve written them down, raw and real and fully you, you’ll be offering something sacred: a map back to who you were. And a nudge toward who they might still become.

So go on. Write it while you’re alive enough to laugh about it.

And if it helps? Start it like this:
“[Your Name] died as they lived—surrounded by snacks, strong opinions, and at least one half-finished project.”

Question to Ponder:
If someone read your obituary tomorrow, would it sound like the life you meant to live? If not, what’s one small change you can make today to start living it on purpose?

Need help writing yours? Reach out! I can help.

Dear Caregiver

You, standing at the edge of someone else’s suffering, holding it like it’s your own.  This letter is for you.

I know you likely didn’t ask to be here. Not like this. Maybe it started with a slow unraveling: a diagnosis, a forgotten name, a hospital bracelet. Or maybe it came suddenly: a stroke, a fall, a phone call that split your life into before and after. However you got here, you stayed. That matters.

And I see you.

I see your exhaustion.  The kind that sinks into your bones, that no nap or cup of coffee can fix. You carry lists in your mind like grocery bags with the handles digging into your hands: meds at 8, physical therapy at 10, call the insurance company (again), try to remember when you last took a real breath.

You speak kindly when you're running on fumes. You show up when you'd rather disappear. You cry in the shower, then dry your face and go back to making lunch for someone who may or may not remember your name. That is bravery. No medals, no parades. This is the quiet, unglamorous courage of love in action.

And I see your cracks.

I know you wonder if you’re doing enough. (You are!)
I know you snap sometimes and feel guilty about it. (You're human!)
I know you grieve people who are still here.
And I know that in the middle of it all, you’ve started to lose pieces of yourself.

But here's the secret: those cracks? They're not weaknesses. They're proof that you're still soft, still open, still loving. They're how the light gets in, and out. They're what lets the rest of us see the truth of this sacred, heartbreaking, holy work.

Caregiving is love stretched thin. It’s loyalty with blisters. It’s the art of being present even when you’re barely hanging on.

And it is enough. Even when you feel like it isn’t.

You are not failing because you’re tired.
You are not selfish for needing rest.
You are not alone, even when it feels like the world has turned away and forgotten that you’re grieving someone in real time, one breath, one day, one decline at a time.

So let me say what maybe no one else has said lately:

Thank you.
Thank you for wiping foreheads and changing sheets and sitting through endless doctor visits.
Thank you for the whispered reassurances at bedtime.
Thank you for being the keeper of dignity in a system that often forgets it.

And please, don’t forget you in all of this. You’re still in there, under the schedules and pill bottles and piles of paperwork. You’re allowed to have needs. You’re allowed to be angry. You’re allowed to say this is too damn hard. It is.

So if today you need permission to rest, here it is.
If you need to scream into a pillow, do it.
If you need to sit in silence and cry, I’ll sit with you, right here in these words.
And if you need to hear that what you're doing matters more than you know, I’m telling you now: it does. You do.

This is not a job for the faint-hearted. This is trench work. Soul work. And yes, it will break you open in places you didn’t even know existed, but it will also expand you.

Caregiving is an act of fierce, holy love.

And I see you.

Love and Light,
Nikki the Death Doula

P.S.  And if you want a community of other caregivers who really get it, I’ve got you covered.  Come on over to Caregivers United.

Navigating End-of-Life Decisions Without a Will

Spoiler: It’s Not Great, But You’re Not Doomed

Let’s start with the obvious: having a will is a gift to your loved ones. It’s like leaving behind a map instead of making them guess your favorite hiking trail based on vague Facebook posts and half-remembered conversations.

But… what if there is no will?

Whether you’re dealing with the death of someone who didn’t have one, or you're staring down the reality that you haven’t written yours yet (No judgment, just a gentle nudge), the truth is: it’s complicated, but not impossible.

Here’s what it actually looks like to navigate the end-of-life decisions without a will and how to make it just a little less chaotic.

First of All: What Is a Will, and Why Does It Matter?

A will (formally, a "Last Will and Testament") is a legal document that lays out who gets what when someone dies (money, property, keepsakes, custody of pets, etc.) It can also name guardians for minor children and appoint someone (an executor) to handle the logistics.

Without a will, the law steps in and says, “Okay, we’ve got this, we’ll divide things our way.” That’s called dying intestate, and it basically means a probate court gets to sort it all out, following state laws that have nothing to do with family drama, nuance, or Aunt Marge’s emotional attachment to the wedding china.

So What Happens When Someone Dies Without a Will?

Short answer? The state decides. Long answer? It’s a hedge maze with an axe wielding maniac inside. Here’s what usually happens:

1. The court appoints an administrator. This is like an executor, but chosen by the court. It’s often a spouse or adult child, but not always. Cue potential fights.

2. Assets are distributed according to state law. Most states follow a strict formula. Spouse gets X%, kids get Y%, etc. Unmarried partners, stepchildren, best friends, or devoted caregivers? They get nothing, unless specifically named somewhere else (like on a life insurance policy or a joint bank account).

3. It takes longer.  Probate without a will can stretch out for months, even years, especially if the family doesn’t agree. It’s like group-texting in grief: slow, emotional, and full of miscommunication.  And no funny gifs of cats to  break things up a little

4. It costs more.  More court time. More paperwork. More legal fees. Less peace.  Mom wanted you to get that $100k and now you're lucky to get half.
   

But It’s Not Just About the Money

End-of-life decisions go way beyond “who gets the house.” If there's no will, and no advance directive or power of attorney in place, decisions about healthcare, funeral arrangements, and even what to do with the body are often up for grabs. And let me tell you: grief brings out the best and worst in people.

• One sibling wants cremation, the other insists on a traditional burial.

• A long-term partner isn’t legally recognized and gets shut out of planning.

• No one knows if they wanted life support stopped or extended.

These are not hypotheticals. This is the real-life fallout of not planning ahead.

If You’re the One Left to Navigate It

Okay, so the will is missing, or maybe never existed. Now what?

• Gather documents: Look for deeds, titles, insurance policies, bank accounts. Anything with a named beneficiary will bypass the will anyway.

• Apply for administrator status: You may need to go through probate court to get appointed.

• Check for wishes: Some people jot things down informally (in a journal, in texts, even in voice memos). It may not be legally binding, but it can guide you in making decisions that feel true to who they were.

• Call in help: A probate attorney can save you time, confusion, and family feuds. They’re not just for the wealthy.
  

If You’re Still Alive (Hi!), Make It Easier on Your People

Let this be your sign to stop putting off your own planning. Even if you’re young. Even if you’re healthy. Even if you don’t have much money.

Because death doesn’t wait for your calendar to open up.

Start with the basics:

• Make a will (you can DIY with online templates or see an attorney)

• Name your power of attorney

• Write an advance directive for medical care

• Talk to your people, don’t make them guess

It doesn’t have to be fancy. It just has to exist.

A Gentle Reminder

You don’t have to do it all today. But do something. The reality is, death is hard enough. Don’t make your loved ones untangle your life in the middle of their grief.

Because they will already be exhausted. And hurting. And missing you like hell.

Leaving a plan behind, even a messy one, is an act of love.

A Question to Ponder:
If something happened to you tomorrow, who would be left guessing? What one thing could you clarify today?

Need help navigating difficult decisions? Let me know!

Can We Please Stop Ghosting the Grieving?

Look, I get it. Grief is messy. It's uncomfortable. It doesn’t follow a script or timeline. And for those watching from the outside, it can feel like trying to comfort a tornado.

But can we please, for the love of all things good and holy, stop ghosting people when they’re grieving?

It’s one thing to disappear from a group text because you’re overwhelmed by memes and notifications. It’s another thing entirely to vanish from someone’s life because you don’t know what to say after their dad dies. Or their baby. Or their partner. Or their sense of self after a chronic illness diagnosis.

That kind of disappearing act? It doesn’t go unnoticed. It adds another layer of hurt to an already unbearable pile. It says, “Your pain is too big for me.” It says, “I’m uncomfortable, so I’m choosing silence.” It says, “You’re on your own.”

And that’s just not okay.

Grief Is Not Contagious

SURPRISE! Grief is not contagious. You will not “catch it” by sitting next to someone who’s grieving. But maybe you will catch a glimpse of your own mortality. You’ll be reminded that people die, and love ends, and the world is unfair sometimes.

Is that scary? Doi.

But grief is also one of the most human experiences we have. It’s the tax we pay for loving people. And when someone is drowning in it, the answer is not to walk away and hope someone else has a life preserver, it’s to wade in. Even if you don’t have the right words. Even if all you have to offer is a stiff drink and a “This sucks, I love you.”

Why Do We Ghost the Grieving?

The ghosting isn’t always malicious. It’s usually born of awkwardness. People don’t know what to say. They’re afraid they’ll say the wrong thing. They think, “She has family around, she probably doesn’t need me.” Or “It’s been a while, he’s probably over it by now.”

We tell ourselves this because it’s more comfortable than the truth: grief is inconvenient. It doesn’t wrap up nicely. And we’ve never been taught how to show up for it.

But we can learn.

Show Up Imperfectly

If someone you love is grieving, you don’t need a perfect speech. You need presence.

You need to text even if they don’t respond.
You need to drop off dinner even if they forget to say thank you.
You need to check in even if it’s been six months or a year and everyone else has moved on.

You don’t have to fix it. (Spoiler: you can’t fix it.) You just have to witness it.

Say:

• “I don’t know what to say, but I’m here.”

• “I was just thinking about them today. Do you want to talk?”

• “I made too much soup, and I’m dropping it off. No pressure to answer the door.”

It’s not about grand gestures. It’s about staying. Even when it’s awkward. Especially when it’s awkward.

The Damage of Disappearing

When we ghost the grieving, we reinforce the belief that grief should be hidden. That it’s something to get over quickly and quietly. We make people feel like they have to perform “being okay” just to keep from being abandoned.

But grief is already isolating. It's already a strange, underwater world. When the texts dry up, when the door stays shut, when the casseroles stop, the grieving are left to wonder if their pain has made them unlovable.

It hasn’t.

What’s become rare is a community that knows how to hold pain without turning away.

Let’s Do Better

Let’s be those people who don’t disappear. Who don’t change the subject. Who don’t wait for the “right” time.

Let’s sit with the mess. Let’s drop the platitudes and say, “Yeah, this is awful, and I’m not going anywhere.”

Let’s normalize sticking around for the long haul, for the anniversaries, for the days that sneak up out of nowhere.

Because ghosting the grieving doesn’t protect them. It just teaches them to suffer in silence.

And they deserve so much more than that.

A Question to Ponder:
Who in your life might be carrying invisible grief and how can you gently, imperfectly, let them know you're still here?

The Role of Forgiveness at the End of Life

Forgiveness. It sounds nice in theory, like a Hallmark card sentiment or something your therapist suggests when they want you to do emotional squats. But at the end of life, forgiveness gets a lot less theoretical. When time starts running short, the unresolved hurts, bitter feuds, and quiet regrets start rising like uninvited ghosts at the bedside. And here’s the kicker: they don’t just haunt the dying. They leave their mark on the people who stay behind, too.  Yeah. 

So, what role does forgiveness really play in dying well?

Forgiveness Isn’t Just About “Them”

When we talk about forgiveness at the end of life, most people immediately think about asking someone else to forgive them.  Or figuring out whether they can forgive someone who wronged them. But that’s only a small part of the story.

The truth? Forgiveness is also profoundly internal. Many people nearing death are grappling with how to forgive themselves.  For not being the perfect parent, for working too much, for the drinking, the silence, the absence, the mistakes.  Maybe the time they blew up the garage trying to deep fry a frozen turkey on Thanksgiving. Sometimes what’s hardest to face isn’t what someone did to us, but what we did (or didn’t do) to someone we love.

And if you’ve spent a lifetime bottling up shame or regret, those emotional debts don’t magically disappear when hospice gets called. If anything, they come rushing in with interest.

Forgiveness as Emotional Hospice

You know how physical hospice care focuses on comfort, not cure? Emotional forgiveness works the same way. It doesn't rewrite history or make everything feel better. It doesn't excuse harm. But it can make the dying lighter. Less burdened. It allows people to shift from pain to peace, even if the circumstances haven’t changed.

Forgiveness is not a transaction. It’s not “I forgive you if you say sorry” or “I’ll let it go when they admit what they did.” Sometimes we never get the apology. Sometimes the person is gone, or still toxic. And yet, the act of letting go can still be a radical kindness you do for yourself.

At the end of life, many people begin to understand what the rest of us try to forget: we don't get a do-over. The energy we spend carrying old wounds could be used to say one last “I love you.” Or hold a hand. Or close our eyes in peace instead of fear.

The Fear of Opening the Door

Now, I’m not here to peddle the idea that everyone needs to tie up all their emotional loose ends with a perfect bow before they die. Life isn’t an episode of This Is Us. Some people hold on to their anger for reasons that make complete sense. Some wounds are deep. Some relationships are dangerous. Not everyone deserves a spot at the bedside, and forgiveness doesn’t mean you hand them an invitation.

But what I am saying is this: sometimes, people wait too long. They think they have time to have “the talk,” to write the letter, to soften. And then they don’t. And that delay can leave a bitter legacy for them, and for those who loved them.

I’ve seen people whisper forgiveness into the ears of someone already unconscious, because it felt too vulnerable to say it when the person could respond.  More often I’ve seen it tearfully said after death has occurred.  And I’ve seen families hold their own grief because the one dying couldn’t (or maybe wouldn’t) take that step.

What Forgiveness Can Look Like

Forgiveness doesn’t always come with a speech. I help clients all the time in clearing their hearts as best I can.  Forgiveness could be:

• Writing a letter, even if you never send it.

• Saying “I forgive you” aloud to a photo, a grave, or the ceiling.

• Apologizing, not perfectly, but sincerely.

• Letting go of the need to hear “I’m sorry.”

• Choosing to remember someone’s whole story, not just their worst chapter.
  

A Parting Gift

At the end of life, forgiveness is a gift. Not just for the person dying, but for everyone in their orbit. It frees up energy for love, connection, and legacy. It allows space for presence. And in a world where so much is out of our control, forgiveness can be one of the last acts of agency we have.

If you’re sitting with someone in their final chapter, or preparing for your own someday, ask:
Is there something you need to say?
Someone you need to release?
A burden you’re still carrying?

You might not get a perfect ending. But you can write a peaceful one.

Question to Ponder:
What would it feel like to forgive someone who never said they were sorry? What might it change for you?

Dealing with Death Anxiety: Strategies for Acceptance

Thanatophobia.  That’s a mouthful.  And a heartful.  In case you don’t know; Thanatophobia is the intense fear of death or dying.

Death anxiety is a beast, too.  I see it all the time. I’m not quite to the level of phobia but I have a healthy fear too.  Usually for me it makes an awkward drop in  at 3 a.m. when my brain decides to throw a surprise party titled “What If I Just Stop Existing?”

For some people this is just a vague unease. For others, it’s an ever-present hum in the background of life. And in a culture that avoids talking about death like it’s a contagious rash, it makes sense we’d feel freaked out. But here’s the thing: death anxiety doesn't mean something’s wrong with you. It means you’re human.

The goal isn't to eliminate that fear entirely (good luck with that), but to develop a relationship with it that feels less like panic and more like respect. So let’s get into some grounded, gentle, and maybe even slightly rebellious strategies for accepting the one truth we can’t escape: we're all going to die.

1. Name It to Tame It

(You know I love my rhymes!)  Start by acknowledging the anxiety. Don’t mumble it like a toddler being forced to apologize, say it out loud!!  “I’m scared of dying.” There. You said it. You didn’t burst into flames. 

Death anxiety, like anxiety as a whole, thrives in silence and shame. When we say it out loud, journal about it, or talk to someone we trust, we take away some of its power. We drag it out of the dark corner and let it stretch its legs in the daylight. You’re not weird for feeling this way. You’re honest.

2. Learn What You’re Actually Afraid Of

Death is a giant umbrella term. Often what we’re really afraid of isn’t death itself, but something more specific:

• The pain of dying?

• Leaving loved ones behind?

• Ceasing to exist?

• Regret about not living fully?

• The mystery of “what’s next?”
  

Get curious. Unpack the fear. Give it specifics. Sometimes the fear is less about death and more about the living we feel we haven’t done.

3. Engage with Mortality

This one sounds backwards, but stay with me here. Avoidance makes fear stronger. So try leaning in, gently. Watch films or read books that deal with death in thoughtful ways. Visit a cemetery and notice the peacefulness. Have conversations with older people about what they think about death (they’re often shockingly chill about it). 

When we normalize death, it stops feeling like an intruder and starts feeling more like an inevitable guest. Still a guest you might not want to hang with every day, but one you’re not actively hiding from.

4. Plan for the End

Want to feel a surprising sense of peace? Fill out your advance directive. Pick your power of attorney. Write a few notes about what kind of memorial you’d want. These aren't morbid tasks; they're acts of love. They say, “I know I won’t be here forever, but I can still leave some clarity behind.”  And what a gift for your loved ones to not have to panic buy a casket.

And weirdly, having a plan in place tends to ease anxiety, not amplify it. Because now you’re not at the mercy of the unknown. You’ve looked Death in the eye and said, “Okay, I see you. Here’s how I want this to go.”

5. Practice Tiny Acts of Presence

At the core of death anxiety is often a disconnection from the present. We spin out into “what if” or “when will,” and miss the only thing we actually have: now.

So practice presence. You don’t have to meditate for an hour a day on a mountain top. Just breathe deeply while your coffee brews. Really listen when your kid tells you something weird about worms. Laugh. Cry. Taste your food. These small acts are how we say yes to life. And the more we say yes to life, the less we fear its end.

6. Talk to Someone Who’s Not Scared to Talk About It

This could be a therapist. It could be a chaplain. It could be a death doula (oh, hi!). Sometimes you need a guide who doesn’t flinch when the topic of death comes up. Because this isn’t just about managing anxiety, it’s about rewriting your relationship to mortality. About integrating the reality of death into your life without letting it hijack your joy.  Guys seriously this is what I DO.

You don’t have to do this alone. And you definitely don’t have to carry it quietly.

7. Accept That It Is Inevitable (And Let That Change You)

This isn’t a motivational poster moment, but here’s the truth: we are all going to die. No workaround. No app to fix it.

And once you accept that, like…REALLY accept that, something wild can happen. You might start living differently. You might stop waiting for the “perfect time” to do something. (It doesn’t exist) You might speak up more, forgive faster, hold boundaries like a boss, or love more recklessly.

That’s the gift inside death anxiety. It reminds us of our aliveness.

Final Thoughts (But Not like….Final Final)

Death anxiety doesn’t mean you’re weird. It means you’ve realized something important: this life is fragile. And while you can't outsmart death, you can walk with it. Hand in hand. Nervous, maybe. But braver than before.

So take a breath. You’re still here. Let that be enough for now.

A Question to Ponder:
What would you do differently today if you accepted that death isn’t a threat, but a teacher?

Your Grandmother Was Right: Death Is Inevitable, But We Can Still Do It Better

Your grandmother probably had a lot of opinions. Some questionable (like  the ol’ tissue up the sleeve thing), and some that hit you right in the soul. Like when she’d wave a hand at the sky and say, “Well honey, we all go sometime.”

She wasn’t wrong.

Death is inevitable. You, me, that guy with the leaf blower who starts at 7:00 a.m. on Saturdays, we’re all going to die. And while most of us would prefer to avoid the topic entirely, pretending we can outwit mortality with supplements, green juice, and a well-filtered Instagram feed, Grandma didn’t play that game. She looked it square in the face.

But here’s the thing: inevitability doesn’t have to be messy.  We can’t dodge death, but we sure as hell can do it better.

Death Isn’t the Problem. It's Avoidance.

We’ve built a culture that talks around death like it’s a shameful secret. We whisper it. We cover it in euphemisms. We say "passed away," "gone to a better place," or "no longer with us," as if the real word might conjure it into the room.  

But death already is in the room. It always has been.

It’s in the aging dog curled at your feet. It’s in the wilted flowers on the table. It’s in all the new aches and pains I seem to keep developing.  

When we avoid talking about death, we don’t make it go away, we just make it harder. We leave families floundering in the wake of “I don’t know what they would’ve wanted.” We let fear fill the silence instead of love, planning, and meaning.

We deserve better than that.

A Better Death Isn’t Perfect, It’s Present

Doing death better doesn’t mean it’s clean or tidy, or even predictable. There will still be snotty tears and grief that wraps around you like a vice. It doesn’t mean you’ll feel “ready,” or that loss won’t gut you. But it does mean that we can show up more fully.  For ourselves and for each other.

A better death means:

• Talking to the people you love about what matters most to you.

• Having the awkward conversations now so they’re not impossible later.

• Making choices ahead of time about your care, your stuff, your legacy (and yes, even your funeral playlist).  Ahem.
  

It means allowing death to be part of life, not some dark secret we shove in the attic.

A better death might look like being surrounded by familiar voices, favorite music, and the smell of soup on the stove. It might mean writing letters to your people or letting them write theirs to you. It might mean dying alone, or it might mean choosing medical options with intention, but always, always with clarity and care.

Grandma Was Also Right About the Cake

While we’re on the subject, let’s not forget another gem from grandma: “Life’s short, eat the cake.”

She meant joy. She meant presence. She meant don’t wait for some perfect time that may never come. And that’s part of doing death better, too.

Because acknowledging death doesn’t make life less vibrant. It makes it more vivid.

We start saying the things we’ve held in our mouths for too long. We take the trip. We forgive ourselves. We gather around the table. When we know our time is finite, we stop wasting it on things that don’t matter. 

Let me repeat that: WHEN WE KNOW OUR TIME IS FINITE WE STOP WASTING IT.

Let’s Make This Easier on the Living

And maybe most practically doing death better means doing right by the people we leave behind.

Leave them something besides a mess. Leave them a plan. Leave them permission to grieve in their own weird, beautiful way. Leave them with stories you told and stories you wrote down.

Don’t make them become private investigators trying to decode your will, your passwords, or whether you wanted to be composted or turned into a firework.

(Yes, those are real options. And yes, Grandma would’ve had thoughts.)

So Here’s the Invitation

Let’s stop whispering. Let’s start preparing. Let’s remember that facing death doesn’t kill the joy, it multiplies it.

Your grandmother was right: death is inevitable.

But we? We can still do it better.

A Question to Ponder:
What’s one small, meaningful step you could take today to prepare for a better death.  For you, or for someone you love?

Grief Holds us Hostage

Ok so one of my most favorite movies of all time is a lively little raunchy humor movie called “Drop Dead Fred.”  Long story short, the imaginary friend comes back into a woman’s life as she is an adult and wreaks havoc.  There is one scene where he goes outside, covers his shoes in dog poo and goes into her mother’s freshly cleaned white living room and proceeds to spread it everywhere.

That’s grief.  

Grief doesn’t knock politely.  It bursts in and spreads dog crap on your white sofa.

It doesn’t care about your to-do list.
It doesn’t care that you're already late picking up the kids or that you're still supposed to smile at work.

Basically; Grief takes us hostage.
It ties your focus to a chair and demands your full attention. Some days, it whispers. Other days, it screams.
But most days? It just sits there like an invisible weight strapped to your back. Heavy, unseen, and misunderstood.

And the worst part?  You can look totally “fine” while carrying it. You might laugh at a joke. You might get groceries. You might even remember to wear pants.

But inside, there’s this endless loop playing in your head that no one else can hear: They’re gone. They’re gone. They’re still gone.

There’s a kind of quiet madness in grief. A disorienting blend of I can’t believe this happened and Why hasn’t the world stopped spinning?

You might find yourself crying in the frozen food aisle because a bag of peas reminded you of something you didn’t even know you’d forgotten.  You might avoid a song, a room, a date on the calendar like it's laced with poison.

Grief doesn’t play fair. It kidnaps your sense of normal and offers nothing in return but this wild, uncomfortable, soul-altering ache.

And yet. (There’s always an “and yet.”)

Even though grief holds us hostage, it’s not just a tormentor.  It’s also the evidence of love.
It’s the echo of connection. It’s the price we pay for having let ourselves care so deeply.

Grief is brutal, yes. But it’s also sacred.

It demands stillness in a world that won’t stop moving.  It cracks us open so something true can rise. And if we’re brave enough to stay in the room with it, we may find that it begins to loosen its grip.

Not all at once, (And certainly not neatly.) but slowly and surely.

So if you’re currently tied to grief’s chair listening to its schemes,  just know:
You’re not broken.  You’re not failing.
You’re grieving.

And that is a sacred kind of survival.

What I’ve Learned from Sitting at the Bedside

People think death is all grand last words and dramatic exits. But here’s the thing: it’s mostly quiet.  (NOT ALWAYS)  Uneventful in the way a sunrise is uneventful, unless you’re paying close attention.

I’ve sat at a few bedsides. Some were surrounded by family, hands held tightly. Others were alone.

Each time, I learn something. Not in a  life-changing “wow, what a teachable moment” kind of way. More like a deep knowing that settles in your chest, wordless but still real.

Here are a few things death has brought to me from the bedside:

1. Silence is not empty.

We’re so trained to fill the air.  To explain, to soothe, to fix. But there’s power in silence.  Some of the most sacred moments I’ve witnessed happened when no one said a thing.  Just breath, presence, maybe a hand on a hand. That’s enough. Sometimes, it’s everything.

2. People die how they lived.

The control freaks? They’re managing their exit like a project plan. The comedians? Still cracking jokes with their final breaths. The tender-hearted? Worried about everyone else until the very end. There’s no right way to die, but personality doesn’t stop when dying starts.

3. It’s okay to not know what to say.

There are no magic words. The dying don’t need perfect speeches, they need you.  Your presence. Your willingness to show up and stay. Sometimes “I’m here” is the most healing thing a person can hear. 

4. Touch matters.

I get asked a lot, “Can I touch them?” Almost with a need for permission and acknowledgment that it’s not contagious.  YES.  Please do!  (Assuming they are comfortable with physical touch)  kiss their forehead, hold their hand, rub lotion on their dry feet.  I can see myself climbing right into the bed with my mom.  These gestures speak volumes. Touch says, You are still human. You are still loved. You are not alone.

5. Dying is part of living.

I know that sounds obvious, but most people live like it’s not. Sitting at the bedside has taught me that dying isn’t the opposite of life, it’s part of it. It strips away the nonsense and leaves behind what’s real: love, presence, truth.  It’s the very thing that gives our lives meaning.

I never leave a bedside unchanged. Every single time, something in me softens. My priorities shift. My grip on petty stuff loosens.

It’s humbling. It’s sacred. And yeah, sometimes it’s awkward, icky, or just hard as hell.

But if you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to be at someone’s side as they leave this world, let me tell you it’s not about knowing what to do. It’s about being willing to be there.

Fully.
Quietly.
Bravely.

That’s where the real learning happens.

I Don’t Have All the Answers. But I Do Have Snacks and Tissues!

Let’s get these things out of the way:
- I am not a walking Hallmark card.
- I don’t have the magic words.
-I don’t have a laminated checklist of “how to grieve properly.”
- I don’t even have a universally flattering black outfit for funerals.

But what do I have?

Tissues. Snacks. A weird sense of humor sometimes.  And the ability to sit in the dark with you without flipping on the light and saying, “Chin up, buttercup!”

Being a death doula isn’t about having all the answers, it’s about being willing to ask the hard questions and then not running away when the silence that follows feels like it might swallow us whole.  It’s easy to ask someone “Hey, how are you really feeling today?”  The hard part is really listening to the answer.

I’ve sat beside people who were dying and didn’t know how to say goodbye.

I’ve listened to grieving adult children who apologized for crying too loudly, without making them feel shameful for snotty, ugly crying.

I’ve passed cookies to people who didn’t know they were hungry until the sugar hit their bloodstream and reminded them they were still alive.

Here’s the thing no one wants to admit: We can’t fix death. Also, we can’t solve grief. And yet both keep sticking their stupid hairy noses in our faces.  Death doulas, we still show up. Not with the perfect words. But with presence.

Not with answers. But with comfort.

Not with solutions. But with a soft place to land.

That might look like:

• Holding space while someone makes impossible medical decisions.

• Sitting quietly while the weight of loss settles into their bones.

• Handing over a granola bar because, no, you haven’t eaten today and yes, it does matter.
  

The world tells us to be strong, keep moving, stay productive.  “Don’t worry, you’ll get over it!”  Shudder. But grief? Death? They don’t care about your schedule, your diet, or even your livelihood.

So I slow things down. I bring the Kleenex and the crackers and the non-judgmental eye contact. I ask, “How can I support you right now?”and then I actually listen.  What?!  I know.

If you’re looking for someone who’s got it all figured out, that’s not me. But if you want someone who can walk beside you through the messy, holy, aching beauty of this part of life?

I’ve got snacks in my bag and a seat on the couch with your name on it.

Come as you are. No answers required.