When Ollie died I realized how I had come to love her – quietly, gently, bit by bit- day after quiet day.
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We hadn’t spoken for a long time before the last time, then I found out that you had passed away. You taught me that the connections made can be as strong as one of family. I’m now writing this with chosen family of my own. I miss
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My mom and dad always phoned me at inconvenient times. I was always so busy with my life. Now they’re gone I often think: “Oh I should tell them this”…or…”Now would be a perfect afternoon to call them.” But it’s too late. So many things I didn’t
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Your last words to me were “be good” I was 17 years old. They’ve echoed in my head since
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“When you die you, as a drop in the ocean merge with ocean.” “Death is like removing your clothes, only you are ridding yourself of your material body.”
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My father died on a Monday. An early morning in spring- just as the day began, just as people were busy scurrying. I think about how many babies were born at that exact moment. How many of them had his curly black hair and dark coffee skin
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Made me think of losing parts of my mother to dementia but remembering the lucid, visible, wholesome moments when she was bright and connected with me. Thank you,
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Although I tell parts of my family’s story in public, I realized that I never told the hardest parts, the ones I most needed someone to hear. Eventually I was invited by Phil Doyer, author of Conversations on Dying to not censor myself. Writing it all out
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Dear Mom, Days like today bring you close to me. I’m still glad to be your daughter. Love and legacy never dies and in your dying, I again was gifted to witness your strength. You died with the dignity you wanted; clean underwear, your weekly bath, nurses
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Being with the dying is an absolute privilege and honour. I remember my first client death very well. I sat at the bedside of an elderly gentleman, while he was actively dying in hospital. His partner has stepped out to make funeral arrangements. The room was quiet.
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