Good Mourning Grief

A blog about my adventures as a grief warrior

Tag: #endoflife

This Is It

March 8, 2026 /

I quietly honored my brother-in-law this week. It has been four years since he left for the other realm. I sent my sister a text letting her know I was thinking of her and how very fast the time goes.  And yet it doesn’t. It feels like I have missed him forever and yet the conversations at his bedside seem like yesterday.

It was a quiet afternoon, my sister was on her way to the hospital, I was there with Dan. All of us were aware that his passing was soon to be. I was holding his hand as he drifted in and out of sleep. At one point, he opened his eyes and turned to me. I squeezed his hand and he said, “well I guess this is it.” I replied, “yes, it is. Any final thoughts?” He paused, closed his eyes and then opened them, “I wish I had travelled more.”

Interesting what our last desires may be. He had travelled to sunny holiday destinations, to small northern Alberta towns, to beautiful forest campgrounds. He had travelled more than most. And yet travel seemed lacking in his life review. I wish I had pursued that with him, but the energy and the timing wasn’t available.

I did reassure him that his travels would continue. That soon, he would be body-free to go anywhere in the Universe of his choosing. That we would honor him on earth, taking his ashes with us as we travel to new places. He smiled at that idea, the concept that he would continue to be with us.  

Thus, he has gone on short trips to favorite spots. He has gone to Mexico, Vegas and as far as Iceland and Ireland last year. There are plans for him to visit Scotland soon. It is our way of honoring his last wishes. All these adventures have happened in the short span of four years.

When the date of his death came around this year, I had to recount to ensure it was four. Because of how much has happened, because of the vast changes since, how is it possible all that happened in such a short span. It felt heavy on me. Special occasions are like time nudging you. A teasing reminder of what was, a snide ‘what you going to do about it’ poke.

His comment, “…I guess this is it”, has never left my mind.

The anniversaries time carries within it gives permission to rewrite how we live each day. These dates are the catalyst to self-reviews, of where we are at, what we want to do more of with the unknown time we have left. It is also an opportunity to review how we remember our loved ones, what could we do new or more of or what might we stop. 

Time does fly. But it also lingers. In quiet moments, it slows down just enough that we can hear the desires of our heart. In thought, or in conversation, time gives us pauses to understand. And that understanding can bring action or acceptance or forgiveness. At the very least, it brings us ideas for how we can flourish before the inevitable arrival of our own “this is it.”

Savoring Tiny Moments of Clarity

January 14, 2024 /

This week has been nothing I had written in my calendar to be. It all changed when I answered the phone to hear the frantic voice of my friend’s son. “Dad went for a walk and got lost. We can’t find him.” The local weather dictates staying indoors and somehow my friend has chosen to go for a walk and is nowhere to be found. This is brain cancer.

His son did find him, and we began to work as a team, spending a whole day in emergency, pleading with doctors, and then working with home care, social workers, lodge staff, trying to put parameters in place to ensure my friend is safe. It has not been easy, and it has been all consuming.

One afternoon, it was just him and I. We talked about doctor appointments and what results we hope for. Memory recall lasts only minutes, so the conversation is repeated. He is so very positive about life, about finding a cure. “One step in front of the other,” he says. I ask him, “have you given any thought to if the doctor says there are no more treatments they can do?” I ask this because we know this is the case. He looks into my eyes, and I gently touch his arm. “Just for a minute, go there and tell me what you think.” He ponders this. I am not sure how much understanding he has about this notion. He looks up and says to me, “well, what will be will be”. I lifted my coffee cup, and we clinked as if to toast the moment.

 The doctors have said that the end-of-life stage has begun. But we know better. End-of-life does not exist. It should be defined as end-of-earth. We knew 16 months ago when he was diagnosed that this day would come. Somehow, all that knowledge does not make it any easier for us. And the person who we love we now watch, slowly, losing his brain power, not knowing what is happening in his own life. It doubles the grief.

The days are spent in hyper mode calling the experts, driving to appointments, the worry about support…it makes the time go by fast and at the end of each day, we are more like caregivers than friends and family. My friend senses this.  It confuses him as to why we have all these new people coming to visit. Why he must spend time in hospital waiting rooms. Why he must spend the cold weekend at his daughter’s house. He doesn’t understand it is because he can no longer rationalize what is best for his own safety and comfort. This is pre-grief, the early stages where we know the inevitable is near, but we are too busy in the present to be present.

I suggested to his son that we need to focus on the moments of clarity.  These moments are few and far between and will continue to become fewer and farther but right now we have these moments. We must stop thinking in these moments of the grief, of the future. We must open our hearts to feeling the moment. Really feeling the blessing of the moment.  These moments will become the memories, kept in our heart, for the days after grief arrives to stay.

Exercising the Right To Die

January 16, 2022 /

Vera, the mother of a friend of mine, ended up in the hospital during the holidays and was told that her health was not good enough to return home.  At a young 94 years, she did not see or hear well, and her body was not going to get better, thus a nursing home would be more suitable.  Not wanting any part of that, she called in the family and MAID and selected the date and time she would ‘check out’.

If you knew Vera, this would not surprise you. An artist, in every definition of the word, she lived a full human experience as mother, friend, mentor and life-positive enthusiast.  She laughed, she loved a cold gin and she painted everything she touched with an array of happy colors. Her motto was “be true to yourself”. No, it would not be fitting to have her stripped of her independence and art studio to finish her days in a place that she described as depressing.  To each his own and for her, the end of the road would come when she could no longer live in her home. That day arrived and she enjoyed family and friends and even hospital food up to the last hour. She was ready. With her family around her, the doctor put her to sleep and off she went to meet up with her beloved husband, family and friends that had gone before her. Peaceful, beautiful and a bit surreal.

I went over to her home after to choose one of her paintings, a gift of her to keep with me. I hugged my friends and listened as they shared pictures of her of that morning and stories of how the experience was for them. And then they went back to cleaning and purging her home to get it ready for sale.  I watched. Curious how life doesn’t ever stop for long. For them, it stopped long enough to hold her and wish her goodbye. They are grateful she went out on her own terms.  They are grateful that they were able to say all that needed to be said. They are grateful there was no suffering.  Truly, as far as death goes, it was a 5-star event.

So, what does the future look like for them? We know there will be grief; it is the other side of love, and she was loved. Does the ability to have a loved one die like that change grief?  Does it make it easier? What will their ‘what if’ questions be like, if any? I have never known anyone who has experienced this type of death. I see my friends are sad.  I see they are overwhelmed with the tasks at hand to get her estate in order. I see their strength as they gather to get the job done for and in honor of their mother.

I watch. This is the housekeeping of death; preparing for funeral, issuing the will, the robotic actions that we all must do when a loved one leaves.  No matter how they leave. These tasks keep grief at bay until they are finished. Oh yes, I remember how this part was for me, like darkened glimpses of a bad movie.

I have put a bottle of wine aside for when grief settles in, I will be there to sit with their pain. And for Vera, my heart is happy for her. I know when I see a beautiful sunset or a field of daisies, the splashing’s of color, natures canvas, painted by the beautiful Angel Vera.  

© 2026 Good Mourning Grief

Theme by Anders Noren — Up ↑