Recently, I navigated a profound season of death. Life continued, but everything around me felt rearranged, both internally and externally. This shifting perspective was underscored by a bumper sticker I passed frequently: “Honk if you love death and dying.” Its message gave me pause. What is a “good death,” and how can the experience of dying teach us to live better?
While I don’t wish death upon anyone, I believe there is much to learn about living well by being present to the reality of mortality. As I make peace with death, several insights have become clearer to me.
After hearing that a friend had been with her grandfather as he died, I sent her a condolence message. It had been over four years since we last connected, and her response startled me. She wrote, “Thank you so much. It’s my first experience walking someone through their passage from this earth, and I feel honored to have been there.” This simple exchange illuminated how rarely we discuss death and how profound it can be.
The finality of death is difficult to anticipate or accept, and it often brings feelings of remorse and regret. However, there are also spectacular insights available to us as we confront mortality. Embracing these moments and being present with death can reveal a profound sense of purpose and fulfillment through acts of service. There is a unique gift in sitting with someone as they transition from this world.
Death brings forth a raw vulnerability, stripping us down to our essence. In this state, engaging our full emotions allows others to truly see us and support us. Humility, humanity, and compassion thrive in these moments.
Experiencing death deepens our understanding of what it means to feel. In the face of mortality, I shed layers of modesty and opened up to a state of grace that had always been there but had gone unacknowledged. Being fully seen in these moments requires no words; sometimes silence speaks volumes.
Grief also offers a societal legitimacy that allows us to process our emotions when a loved one dies. This permission to be sad can unlock a fuller range of feelings. Grieving has opened me up to my emotions; the highs feel higher, the lows lower, and somehow, it’s all okay.
With death, there are no do-overs—only the invitation to be present. I believe that as individuals transition from this life, they take stock of their memories and experiences. Witnessing this life review becomes an act of service, similar to what we offer during memorials. Celebrating a life is wonderful, but serving as a companion on that journey can be even more profound. With the right relationship and permission, it becomes a privilege to support someone through their final reflections.
Witnessing a soul transition is profoundly different from any other of life’s rich and varied experiences. Death encompasses contradictions—it brings finality and closure while simultaneously evoking uncertainty. The fabric of a relationship, intricately woven over a lifetime, is coming to an end.
Secondary grief can arise when we have a supportive space to process our emotions, whether through time off work, compassionate friends, or loving partners. With space and curiosity, we may connect with grief we’ve repressed, exploring losses of dreams and hopes that can feel overwhelming when we’re already vulnerable.
In the intimate setting of the hospice with my uncle, I felt a deep presence. It was as if the love and appreciation for the dying individual drew close to the spirits of those who had passed. The room felt like a warm womb, filled with a web of gentle, saturating love. It seemed that long-gone loved ones were awaiting his death, ready to shepherd him through to the other side. This experience was surreal, rich, inspiring, and deeply loving.
Ultimately, there are many gifts to be found in our encounters with death. If we can talk about it openly and honestly, we might learn how to live more fully and prepare for our own good deaths, transforming our understanding of what it means to be alive.
