“Life owes us nothing. We only owe ourselves, to make the most of the life we have, to use the time we have left, and to live with gratitude. ~ Brownie Weir
Today I want to tell a story about death.
That word tends to change the energy in the room, doesn’t it? People tense up, lean back, or become silent. Death is often seen as morbid, something to be avoided or feared. But I see it differently. The more we talk about death with openness and reverence, the less heaviness and fear it brings.
My earliest experience with death was when my grandparents passed away. I remember the moment my parents told us my grandfather had died. The atmosphere was so tense and so deeply sad. I was five or six years old and wanted to laugh. This wasn’t disrespectful or indifferent—I realize now that it was my body’s way of releasing the unbearable tension in the room.
But my most profound experience with death came when my mother died. I was twenty-six years old. Almost twenty years ago. She has cancer.
I spent long, quiet days with her in that shabby, clinical ward. I remember the stairs clearly—climbing them one at a time, deliberately slow, as if dragging my feet might delay the inevitable. Every step felt heavy, as if I could somehow resist the truth that waited on that floor.
I remember not knowing what to say or do, especially when she told me, “It’s difficult.”
I think she held back her tears for me, just as I held back my tears for hers.
Part of us is in denial of the truth. Part of us still holds out hope. Part of us knows the inevitable is coming.
Looking back, I hope we cried together. I hope we can fully feel the sadness, sadness and heaviness of it all. Instead, we act bravely and try to protect each other. But what are we protecting? We all struggle.
If I had known then what I know now, I would have treated her final days differently. I would give her a soft space to breathe, to release, to let go of the grip. I will lovingly guide her into this transition, reminding her that she is returning to the beautiful energy of the universe, to the soul she loves.
I’ll tell her I love her. We’ve spent a lot of time together over the past few weeks.
I carried the guilt with me for years, especially for not being with her when she passed away. She transitioned in the middle of the night while my sister and I were sleeping at home.
But now, I choose to believe that she is not alone. Perhaps she is supported by unseen forces in the soul realm, her guides, and her loved ones on the other side. No one knows what happens after we die, but I find the idea comforting.
I’ve come to believe that we need to talk about death—not dwell on it, but embrace it for what it is. Death is part of life. It’s a cycle – a beginning, a middle and an end.
When I returned to Florida after her death, I was devastated. Everything felt different and small compared to the magnitude of what I had just experienced. Partying and drinking no longer appealed to me. My relationship felt so empty and I couldn’t even remember why I was in it. My job felt pointless.
Death gave me a deeper understanding of impermanence and prompted me to re-examine my life. Not a frantic sense of urgency, but a profound realization that life is short. Life is precious. This realization is life-affirming.
Every breath counts. Every moment counts. This makes me wonder:
- Where am I spending my energy?
- With whom?
- What am I serving?
- What have I contributed to this world?
This question was the beginning of my expansion. It’s not linear—there’s progress, and there’s a lot of regression—but it keeps me on a path that’s aligned with my evolving truth.
I believe we must live with an awareness of death. Not just intellectually, but in our very bones. When we truly understand that we will die—perhaps even today—it will reshape the way we live our lives.
Buddhist teachings encourage meditation on death and imagining your own passing. This is not pathological; It’s clarifying. How would you live if you knew you could die today?
exist Five things you regret most before you dieBrownie Weir shares wisdom from her years as a hospice nurse. Here are the most common regrets she hears:
1. “I wish I had the courage to live a life that is true to myself, not the life others expect of me.”
2. “I wish I didn’t work so hard.”
3. “I wish I had the courage to express my feelings.”
4. “I want to stay in touch with my friends.”
5. “I wish I could make myself happier.”
These resonate deeply with me. When my mother passed away, I unknowingly began a journey to align my life with these truths. I admit I’m still working on five of them. Life has a way of distracting us from what matters most.
But this is my reminder to myself and you at the end of the year:
slow down. Take a step back. Reflect on how far you have come and where you want to go next.
I hope you will reflect on this. Let the thought of death infuse your life with intention—not stress, but clarity. Maybe you’ll realize that the most important thing is spending time with your loved ones. Maybe it’s pursuing a dream, letting go of a grudge, or just enjoying the gift of being alive.
