The Ghosts of Our Past: How Old Grief Still Shapes Us

The holidays have a way of stirring things up. Joy and sorrow start mingling like relatives who don’t quite get along. And both showing up whether you invited them or not.

This season, I’m exploring grief through a familiar old story: A Christmas Carol. Dickens gave us three ghosts: past, present, and future, each holding a mirror to the parts of ourselves we’d rather avoid. But for those of us grieving, these ghosts feel a little too real.

Over the next few weeks, we’ll visit each one.
The Ghost of Christmas Past, who reminds us of what we’ve lost.
The Ghost of Christmas Present, who asks us to face what is.
And the Ghost of Christmas Yet to Come, who whispers about what might still be possible.

You don’t need to be merry to be part of this. Just honest. Just human.

The Ghost of Christmas Past: When Memories Won’t Stay Quiet

The holidays have a way of summoning ghosts. Maybe not literal ones, but the quieter, more haunting ones that live in our memories. The smell of a certain candle. The sound of a favorite song. The sight of ornaments you can’t bring yourself to hang.  (Oh boy do we have a few of those)

Grief in December often feels like time travel. One moment you’re here, making coffee, and the next you’re back in a kitchen from ten years ago, standing beside someone who isn’t here anymore. The Ghost of Christmas Past just shows up without a courtesy call ahead.  Jerk.

But maybe we shouldn’t shut the door on those memories. Maybe we listen to them.

When the past visits, let it tell its story. Write about the traditions that meant something, the laughter that still echoes, and the moments that now ache to remember. Memory is love’s way of saying, “They mattered. You still matter.”

Try this: light a candle and journal about one holiday memory that feels alive this year. What does it bring up in you? What does it still want you to know?

You don’t have to live in the past, but you also don’t have to exile it. Sometimes revisiting what was helps us see how far we’ve come and how deeply we’ve loved.  After all, grief is love with nowhere to go.

Winter Rituals for Emotional Healing: Small Steps for a Softer Season

Winter has always been a season with a bit of an attitude. It rolls in with its long nights and cold mornings like, “Hey, remember sunlight? Yeah… about that.” And for folks moving through grief, that darkness can feel less like a backdrop and more like a weight. But winter also has this quiet, ancient wisdom tucked into its frost: when things slow down, we can actually hear ourselves. And that’s where healing rituals come in.  Not the woo-woo kind (unless that’s your jam), but the grounding, human ones that help us soften into the season rather than fight it.

Here are a few rituals that can help hold you through the cold months, especially if you’re grieving, overwhelmed, or just feeling a little frayed at the edges.

1. The “Light a Candle and Breathe” Ritual

Look, I know: lighting a candle isn’t exactly groundbreaking. But winter asks us to honor small things, and this is one of the smallest, easiest rituals you can do that still packs a punch.

Pick a time; morning, evening, whenever your brain isn’t sprinting, and light a single candle. Sit with it for a minute or two. Let your breath match the flicker. Say their name if you want. Say your own name if you need to be called back to yourself.

It doesn’t solve grief (nothing does), but it gives you a small anchor in a season that can feel unmoored. It’s also a ritual you can grow with: add a journal, a photograph, a prayer or a song.  Whatever feels right.

2. A Winter Walk to Nowhere in Particular

I LOVE a good winter hike.  Winter asks us to slow down, which is deeply annoying… until you realize it’s also kind of a gift. One healing ritual is the intentional “walk to nowhere.” Bundle up like a slightly disgruntled marshmallow and step outside.

No destination. No agenda. No step count. Just walk.

Notice the crunch of snow or the sting of the air on your cheeks. Notice the way winter quiets everything down a little.  The birds, trees, and maybe even your own internal narrator for once. This ritual grounds your nervous system and reminds you that your body is still here, still moving, still yours.

Bonus: it’s free, it’s simple, and you don’t have to talk to anyone. Win-win-win.

3. The “Name the Season You’re In” Practice

Grief can make time weird. Days blur. Emotions ricochet. Winter, with its early sunsets and long nights, can amplify that sense of disorientation.

So try this ritual: sit down once a week and name what season you are in, separate from the weather outside.

It could be:

• a season of longing

• a season of exhaustion

• a season of rebuilding

• a season of “barely hanging in, thanks for asking”
  

There’s no wrong answer. This ritual gives shape to the formlessness. It helps you understand your needs before you burn out or shut down.

And yes, you’re allowed to be in multiple seasons at once. Humans are complicated like that.

4. A Warm Drink, Made Slowly

Most of us make our coffee or tea like we’re trying to win a timed competition on a cooking show. But slowing down the process just a little can turn an everyday act into a ritual.

As you boil the water, or grind the beans, or pick your tea leaves, keep your breath steady. Think of it as a micro-meditation. You don’t have to chant or sit cross-legged or ascend to a higher plane. Just… do it slowly.

Then take the first sip with intention. Notice what it feels like to have warmth enter a body that’s been carrying cold, emotional or otherwise.  Enjoying the first sip is something I have done for YEARS.  I  always take a beat to just inhale and savor that first little hit of caffeine in the day.

Winter healing doesn’t have to be dramatic. Sometimes it’s just a mug you didn’t rush.

5. A Weekly “Let Something Go” Ritual

Winter invites release.  Trees shed everything, animals burrow down, the whole world quiets. You’re allowed to do the same.

Each week, write down one thing you want to let go of: guilt, a thought spiral, a “should,” a memory that’s stabbing instead of supporting you.

Burn it (in a safe way, please), bury it under a plant, or shred it with great theatrical flair. The goal isn’t to magically erase the feeling. The goal is to signal to your mind and body: I don’t have to carry everything into spring.

Grief already weighs enough.

6. The Gathering Ritual (even if it’s just you and one other human)

Winter is notorious for making people isolate, especially when they’re grieving. A simple seasonal ritual is to gather intentionally.  Once a week, or even once a month meet up with someone who gets you.

Share a meal, a story, or just sit in mutual silence like two exhausted woodland creatures who don’t feel like talking. Connection doesn’t fix grief, but it keeps us tethered.

And if you don’t have a person right now, gather with yourself. Have a solo night where you do something comforting for no higher purpose than because you deserve to feel held.

Winter isn’t here to punish you, even if it feels like it sometimes. It’s a season built on rest, reflection, and the sacred art of starting again. These rituals aren’t the only ones and you don’t have to do any of these. They are some gentle ways to make space for both your pain and your hope, without forcing yourself to choose between them.

And if winter feels heavy this year, that’s not a moral failure. It’s just a season. One you don’t have to survive alone.

Blog Interrupted

I strive to give you useful content as a death doula.  Words that can help you learn, feel comforted, and maybe sometimes make you giggle a little.  But today I am at a loss for words.  

As you may already know my mother died quite unexpectedly on November 20th, the day before my 48th birthday.  Every word I’ve written or spoken on death, loss, and grief has been rolling around in my head since then and not one makes any of this make sense.  

I am grateful for a lot of things, which may sound odd but hear me out.  I’m grateful my dad and I were at her side (My husband too) as she left this world and moved on to the next.  I’m so grateful she wasn’t alone.  I’m grateful for the enormous outpouring of support and understanding from everyone.  I’m so grateful I got to have her as a mom.  Mom was….a living embodiment of the very word “mom”.  So warm and loving.  Always making people comfortable and happy.  Always letting people in, and filling their hearts and bellies.  (Although, I’m telling her secret now; she HATED cooking)  I’m grateful for the 48 years I had with her.

I’m pissed off too.  I’m mad she didn’t get to see Christmas.  I’m mad she won’t see her great grand daughters get to the fun toddler ages.  I’m mad I can’t text her to let her know I got home safely.  AND WHO THE HELL IS GOING TO TELL ME TO WEAR MY SEATBELT AND WATCH FOR DEER?! I’m mad as hell my dad has to cook for one and I can’t ever have another true mom hug.

Nikki, is there a point to this?  Good lord I’m not even sure.  I guess I’ve never been shy using myself as an example for things I try to explain.  So here I am sharing my own grief as authentically as I can.  

My eyes and throat hurt from crying so much, my stomach hurts from all the snot, I’m so tired I can barely function, and for some reason my foot hurts.  Maybe that one is just that I’m middle aged. I laughed yesterday and it felt weird.  I can’t get the images of mom’s final hours at the hospital out  of my head.  I’m so grateful every time someone messages me to say their sorry or check in on me but I’m also so sick of hearing it at the same time.  

I’m doing my best not to apologize to anyone for my feelings.  I know they’re valid and real and mine.  I’m doing my best to take my own advice and heed my own words.

I’ll be back with my usual content next week, I hope.  I’d already started some great posts for the end of the year so things should roll on as normal.  A new normal for me.  

Be well and never EVER miss an opportunity to tell someone you love them.  I’m grateful the last thing I said to my mom was “I love you” and that the last time I saw her she was SO happy.

Just one week before she left us

When Gratitude Feels Heavy: Navigating Grief at Thanksgiving

Thanksgiving is supposed to be the season of gratitude. (*gag*) The big family meal, the clinking of glasses, the forced smiles in matching sweaters. But when you’re grieving, all that thankfulness talk can hit like grandma’s “special juice”. Gratitude feels like a language you used to speak fluently, but now sounds like drunk uncles.  (Alright Nikki enough with the booze)

Grief during the holidays is hard when you’re missing someone as well as missing who you were when they were still here. It’s being in those rooms where their laugh used to echo, or setting one less plate at the table. It’s trying to be present in a season that constantly drags you back into the past.

If you’re sitting in that space this year, I see you.  And you’re ok.

The Myth of “Should”

There’s a cruel little word that shows up this time of year: should.
I should feel grateful.
I should be stronger by now.
I should go to the family dinner.

But “should” is just shame dressed up in a holiday sweater. It assumes there’s a right way to grieve, and guess what?  THERE ISN’T!. You don’t have to be thankful for the pain, or find meaning in your loss before dessert is served. Gratitude and grief can coexist, but they don’t arrive on schedule.

So if your gratitude list this year looks like “I got out of bed” and “Hey, coffee exists!” That's cool. Gratitude doesn’t have to be profound to be real.

The Empty Chair

Every grieving person knows the chair. The one that used to belong to them.  The parent, partner, sibling, child, friend. It’s not just furniture. It’s a visual reminder of what’s missing.

Some families avoid it. Some set a place in their honor. Some can’t even sit down to the table without tears. There’s no right answer here, but there’s something powerful about acknowledging the empty chair instead of pretending it’s not there.

Maybe you light a candle. Maybe you share a memory. Maybe you pour their favorite drink and raise a quiet toast. The point isn’t to make it easier, because it isn’t easy, you guys.  The point is to make space for what’s true.

Grief doesn’t ruin the holidays. Denying it does.

Permission to Redefine Tradition

Holidays run on autopilot. We repeat rituals year after year.  (Lord knows we have to do everything the same or certain family members get upset)  The same recipes, the same order of events, the same jokes about that year my grandma forgot to turn the oven on. But after a loss, the familiar can feel unbearable. The old traditions might not fit your new reality.

I give you permission to rewrite the script.
Order takeout instead of cooking. “WHAT?  Nikki, I could NEVER!!’  Yes.  You can.  I ate stuffing out of a plastic bag in a hotel in Chattanooga, you can get a pizza.

Skip the big gathering and watch movies in pajamas. Volunteer somewhere. Create a small ritual that honors the person you’re missing.  

Grief is a kind of love story, and love changes us. It’s okay for your holidays to change, too.

Gratitude Reimagined

It’s easy to confuse gratitude with forced positivity. But real gratitude isn’t about pretending everything’s fine and you’re thankful for it. It’s about noticing the tiny, stubborn sparks of life that still show up.  Even when things are crappy.

Maybe it’s the way the air smells like pine.
Maybe it’s a memory that makes you laugh.
Maybe it’s realizing that, somehow, you’re still here.

You don’t have to be grateful for the loss, but you might find gratitude within the loss. For the love that still lingers, the lessons you didn’t ask for but now carry, the connection that refuses to die just because someone did.

A Quiet Kind of Thanks

This Thanksgiving, it’s okay to pass on the big speeches and just whisper your thanks in private. It might sound something like this:

“Thank you for the time we had.”
“Thank you for the people who get it.”
“Thank you for another breath, even when it hurts.”

Grief changes how we see gratitude, but that’s not a loss; it’s a transformation. Because the kind of gratitude that survives grief? That’s the kind that sticks around for the rest of your life.

So if your heart feels heavy this Thanksgiving, remember: You don’t have to perform gratitude. You can simply be. And that, in itself, is enough.  And there’s always grandmas “special juice”.

The Hardest Days: Birthdays, Anniversaries, and Other Grief Landmines

My birthday is this week and it got me thinking about all the birthdays my brother did not get to see.  The weddings and births and Thanksgivings and Christmases and….

If you’ve lost someone you love, you know how craptastic these days can be. The calendar flips to that date and suddenly you’re ambushed by time itself. Maybe it’s your birthday without them. Maybe it’s theirs. Maybe it’s the anniversary of the day everything changed.

Whatever the occasion, these “special” days have a way of sitting on your head and farting or giving you a noogie. (Ok time to move on from the older brother jokes)

The Weight of Remembering

Grief warps time. Some days, it feels like decades since they were here. Other days, you swear you just heard their voice in the next room. Anniversaries and birthdays collapse those distances. They pull the past right up to the surface, raw and alive all over again.

People mean well when they say, “They’d want you to be happy today.” And maybe they would. But that doesn’t mean happiness is possible on command. Sometimes, remembrance is the most honest thing you can offer. Sometimes the best you can do is whisper, I miss you. I wish you were here.

And that counts as honoring them.

The Myth of “Milestones”

Milestones make sense when life is moving forward.  Birthdays, anniversaries, achievements. But after loss, those same milestones can sting. Each year marks another lap around the sun without them, another candle on the cake they don’t get to see.

It’s not just grief for the person, it’s grief for the future you were supposed to share.

There’s no right way to handle these dates. Some people throw themselves into rituals like lighting candles, visiting graves, cooking favorite meals, etc. Others avoid them entirely, treating them like any other day. Both are valid. What matters is what feels kind to your nervous system, not what looks “appropriate” to anyone else.

If you wake up on your birthday and want to celebrate, do it. If you want to hide under a blanket, that’s fine too. You don’t owe anyone cheer.

The “Second Birthday”

There’s a saying in the grief world: after a major loss, you’re born again. You become someone new.  Someone who understands fragility, depth, compassion, and pain in a way you didn’t before.

So maybe these days, the birthdays, the anniversaries,  are a kind of second birth. A chance to pause and ask: Who am I becoming through this grief? Not despite it, not around it, but through it.

That question isn’t comfortable, but it’s powerful. Grief doesn’t destroy you.  It rebuilds you. Every year you survive another lap through loss, you grow roots in places you didn’t know existed.

How to Survive the “Big Days”

Here are a few gentle ideas for navigating them:

• Plan ahead, even if your plan is “do nothing.” These dates have emotional gravity; they pull on you whether you want them to or not. Name the day, choose what you need, and protect it.

• Create a ritual that feels true. Light a candle. Write them a letter. Eat their favorite dessert. Tell a story about them out loud. It doesn’t have to be all gloomy, it just has to be real.

• Give yourself permission to change your mind. You might wake up wanting company and end the day craving solitude. Let the day unfold without judgment.

• Mark your growth. Take a moment to notice what’s shifted since the last time this date came around. You’re still here. You’ve made it through so many “firsts.” That’s not small.
  

A Birthday Reflection

So, here’s to another year. In the quiet and humble sense of I’m still here.

If today happens to be your birthday (then you’re an awesome Scorpio like me!), maybe you’re torn between gratitude and grief. You’re allowed to hold both. You can celebrate the life you’re still living while mourning the people who can’t join the party. You can cry while cutting the cake. You can laugh through tears. You’re still doing it right.

Birthdays after loss are not just about counting years. They’re about honoring survival, love, and the sacred mess of being human.

So light your candle.  For them, for you, for all the versions of yourself that didn’t think you’d make it this far.

That flame isn’t just a reminder of what’s gone. It’s proof that something still burns.

How Death Doulas Can Help Ease Family Conflict

If you’ve ever seen a family trying to make end-of-life decisions together, you know it can get… um….messy. Even the most loving families can find themselves bickering over medical choices, funeral plans, or what Mom “would have wanted.” (OMG this one kills me) Grief has a way of bringing old wounds to the surface and when emotions are high, logic tends to take a backseat

That’s where a death doula can quietly step in and bring a little calm to the chaos.

The Family Battlefield

End-of-life care isn’t just about death and dying.  It’s also about the living part leading up to it.  And trying to make sense of it all.

Something I see a lot; One sibling wants to “do everything possible.” Another insists on comfort care only. Someone’s trying to find the will. Someone else is crying in the hallway. Everyone’s tired, scared, and trying to do the right thing.  They just have different definitions of what that means.

Add in years of family dynamics (like that fight from 1998 that never really ended) and you’ve got a recipe for emotional wildfire.

When conflict flares during an already sacred and vulnerable time, it can rob families of the chance to truly be present.

Enter the Death Doula (picture me in a flowy cape here)

A death doula isn’t there to take sides. We’re there to hold space.  For everyone. Think of us as neutral guides who help bring clarity, compassion, and grounding to a situation that often feels like quicksand.  

Here’s how we help ease family conflict in real, practical ways:

1. Creating a Safe Space for Conversations.  For Everyone.

Many families avoid talking about death until they have no choice, which means the conversations usually happen in crisis mode.  No bueno.
A doula can facilitate those talks early, helping loved ones express fears, wishes, and values before a medical emergency forces the issue.

We set up the room for honesty. We ask open questions like, “What does comfort mean to you?” or “What would feel most peaceful for your loved one?” When people feel heard, they stop shouting to be understood.

Let me repeat that: When people feel heard, they stop shouting to be understood.

2. Translating Between Love Languages

Not everyone shows love the same way. One person’s “fighting for every treatment” might come from the same love as another’s “let them rest.”  A doula helps reframe those differences, so instead of seeing opposition, families see shared care expressed in different forms.

Sometimes it’s as simple as saying, “You both want what’s best for Mom but you just have different visions of what that looks like.” That one sentence can change the whole temperature in the room.

3. Grounding Through Education

Fear breeds conflict.  And most fear around death comes from not knowing what to expect. When a doula explains the dying process, what’s normal, and what choices are available, the mystery shrinks and the panic softens. Understanding replaces assumption. And when families understand what’s happening, they fight less about what they can’t control.

4. Supporting Each Person Individually

A good death doula sees the whole family ecosystem. We notice the daughter who’s taking charge but hasn’t slept in three days. The son who’s angry because he feels helpless. The partner who can’t bring themselves to talk about “after.”

We offer support tailored to each person!  A listening ear, grounding tools, a compassionate presence.  Whatever it takes so everyone has somewhere to put their pain other than at each other.

5. Centering the Dying Person’s Voice

When families start pulling in different directions, a doula gently brings the focus back to the person at the center of it all. “What did they want?” becomes the guiding question.  (Hopefully, we got to know them enough that we already know what they wanted)

Even if those wishes were never formally written down, we help uncover them through stories, values, and shared memories. This re-centering can dissolve a lot of tension. It reminds everyone that love is the reason they’re there.

I’ve seen many defenses let down after a good session of sharing memories.

6. After the Death: Helping Heal the Fractures

Conflict doesn’t always die with the person. Sometimes the hardest part comes after, when grief exposes everything that’s unresolved. A death doula can help families process guilt, resentment, or regret so those feelings don’t calcify into lifelong rifts.

Grief is heavy enough without adding family fallout to the load.

The Doula Difference

Death doulas don’t have magic wands (Man, I wish I did though). What we have is time, presence, and neutrality.  Three things that most families desperately need at the end of life.

We’re not there to fix the pain, but to make sure it doesn’t swallow people whole. We help families breathe, pause, and remember: you’re all on the same side here.

Because when the noise quiets down, love is usually what’s left.

The Myth of the Perfect Death: What Hollywood Gets All Wrong

Movies have taught me a lot about death growing up.  At least, they’ve tried to. The camera pans in, soft music swells, and our dying hero whispers something poetic before peacefully closing their eyes. Everyone looks impossibly clean. The lighting is beautiful. Their loved ones are perfectly positioned around the bed, hands clasped, tears glistening at just the right angle.(I’m looking at you Beaches)

It’s moving. It’s cinematic.  And it’s almost always B.S.

Because here’s the thing: there is no such thing as a “perfect death.”  *steps down off soapbox *  (Actually, lemme hop back up there for this)

Hollywood’s Favorite Lie

We’ve been sold a script about how death is supposed to look. The gentle goodbye. The tidy last words. The deep exhale that signals closure. But in real life, death is rarely that neat and tidy. It’s wildly unpredictable, often messy, sometimes awkward, but always deeply human.  (And if humans are nothing else, we are unpredictable beasts, are we not?)

People don’t usually get to choose the soundtrack or the lighting. They might not say profound final words.  Sometimes, they’re confused, or silent, or cracking jokes about hospital food. Bodies change in ways that aren’t camera-ready. Breathing becomes irregular. Emotions swing wildly between tenderness and frustration.  And sometimes…..icky things occur.

And yet, because of what we’ve been shown on screen, so many people end up feeling like they’ve failed when reality doesn’t match the movie version.

“She didn’t get her moment.”

I’ve heard this from families before. Someone will say, “I thought she’d say something beautiful,” or “I wish it had been more peaceful.” It’s so hard to hear.  And I try to warn folks ahead of time, but they don’t always want to hear me.  But there’s a disappointment that the ending wasn’t what they expected.

Death isn’t a performance. There’s no director calling “Cut!” and asking for another take. It’s raw, unfiltered life happening in its most honest form. Sometimes it’s gentle. Sometimes it’s chaotic. Sometimes it’s both in the same ten minutes.  (I mean is birth as pretty as hollywood makes it out to be?)

When we strip away the Hollywood myth, we make room for something far more real: authenticity.

What a “Real” Death Looks Like

A real death might look like a family crowded around a hospice bed, exhausted but still holding hands. It might sound like laughter mixed with tears. It might mean someone slips away in the middle of the night, when no one’s watching.  (Honestly, this is usually the case)

Real death isn’t always graceful. There may be moments of fear or agitation. There are last-minute reconciliations and words left unsaid. There are nurses and caregivers doing sacred, unglamorous work with cleaning, comforting, sitting in the silence.  (And yes I’ve heard utterances of “why aren’t they gone yet?!” or “why are they hanging on?”)

And yet, within all that imperfection, there’s profound beauty. Because it’s real.

There is love in showing up even when it’s uncomfortable, and family choosing presence over perfection. It takes courage to witness the end without needing it to look “right.”

Why This Myth Hurts Us

When people expect a cinematic death, they can feel guilt or shame when things don’t go “as planned.”

They might think:

• I should have been there when they took their last breath.  (OMG I hear this ALL.  THE.  TIME)

• We didn’t get to say goodbye properly.

• They seemed restless, does that mean they were suffering?  (Likely, no)
  

Those thoughts come from love but also from cultural conditioning. Hollywood rarely shows what death actually looks like. It romanticizes it and wraps it up in a neat emotional bow.  Usually in under 2 hours.

The truth is, death is a transition, a labor.  It’s not a scene. 

Rewriting the Script

So how do we unlearn the myth of the perfect death?

We start by talking about it.  And no, talking about death does not make it happen!!!  We normalize the messiness, the unpredictability, the humanness of dying. We remind people that gasping or fidgeting near the end isn’t a sign of suffering, it’s biology. That silence doesn’t mean fear. That peace can exist even in imperfection.

As a death doula, I see the sacredness in all of it. The awkward moments, the laughter, the unexpected timing, the…erm…. Gaseous emissions.  It’s all part of the story. Sometimes the most beautiful deaths are the ones that look nothing like a movie, but everything like real life.

And maybe that’s the better ending after all.  Not one written by a screenwriter, or god forbid AI, but by the people who loved and lived it.

The Takeaway

Hollywood may give us the myth of the perfect death, but real life gives us something deeper: connection.  When we stop chasing the movie version, we can start being fully present for the human version.

Because the truth is death doesn’t have to be pretty to be meaningful. It just has to be real.

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!