I was visiting with friends recently and while we were sitting around the table, we got to discussing the legacy we want to leave behind for those we love. I shared that my goal is to live a life that leaves behind a memory for my granddaughters and that in their mind, I was a good person, that I was kind and honest and that I was someone they would always be proud of. This got everyone talking about the legacy they would want to leave behind.

While I do not think everyone is afraid to die, or even of death itself, I do believe, and I feel as though I have witnessed, a certain semblance of fear that happens days, hours, and minutes before death. I think the common theme that I witness, is the fear of dying alone, or being alone, or most of all, the unknown… which can be frightening and cause a sense of uncertainty, which I equate to fear.

Working in end-of-life care has me constantly facing the reality of my own mortality. How can it not, right? Death is inevitable, my death is inevitable. It is the one certainty we cannot argue, prove wrong or avoid. So, knowing this, and having the mindset that you will one day die, does that change the way you live your life?

Yes, we are talking about the end life but if you listen really closely, what you will find is that what we are also talking about is the gift of life, the value we place on it and the appreciation we have acquired for its fragility. In my work I have been reminded to live my life fully, to appreciate all of its wonder and magic, and to be more wide-awake. Does that make sense to you, to be more wide-awake?

Providing care to someone who is dying is not easy, but it can be incredibly beautiful. With every person I meet, with every hand I hold and with every last breath I witness, I take something from each experience that makes me a better human being.

Sometimes there will be a large crowd of family and friends, which can be overwhelming and can throw me off a bit. I have learned to work the room, which means I assess each person, watching their facial expressions and mannerisms as I try to find the one who might need my support the most. I will go to them, sit down next to them and ask if there are any questions they might need answers to, or anything I can do for them. Sometimes I am spot on and this person welcomes the support, and other times, they don’t need anything at all from me and would prefer not to talk, and I respect that.

When I sit at the bedside of someone who is actively dying, and there is no one else in the room… I feel a sense of peace. The quiet does not bother me, it comforts me. The knowledge that this person will soon take their last breath does not frighten me, it reminds me how fragile and precious life is and that these moments are simply a part of life.

Learning to listen, at least in my opinion, takes time. It requires us to be patient, non-judgmental, open to what someone has to say and to never assume you know more or better than they do. To listen, means to hear their words, and understand the feelings behind them, to respect how they might feel and allow them whatever time it might take to say what they need to say.

I have learned so much about life working around death, most importantly the reality of the reminder that in death, there are no do overs. You only get one chance to be there for someone you love, to have a best, last memory… and how that plays out is totally up to you.

She always had so many questions about the work I do, and very interested in the dying process and what it might feel like to die. In a million years I would have never known those questions were being asked because of her own personal decline, that she kept secret from me and those she loves. It was not because she was stoic and strong, it was because she wanted to live her life fully without the worry that others were tiptoeing around her.