After surviving the Holocaust, letting go of life is complex

By Melissa Apter

A Holocaust survivor looks at a candle commemorating the liberation of Auschwitz Birkenau, January 27, 2015, in Ayr, Scotland. (Jeff J. Mitchell/Getty Images)
A Holocaust survivor looks at a candle commemorating the liberation of Auschwitz Birkenau, January 27, 2015, in Ayr, Scotland.

Jewish hospice chaplains confront the emotional and medical complexities of death and dying every day, but Holocaust survivors present special challenges.

Rabbi E.B. “Bunny” Freedman, director of the Jewish Hospice and Chaplaincy Network, said that chaplains are increasingly being called on to provide spiritual support to survivors and their families.

“There are a lot of complex issues,” said Freedman, who has worked in end of life chaplaincy for 23 years. “One of them is making the decision of unhooking hydration – much more complex for a Holocaust family. The idea of not providing nutrition is crossing a sacred or not understood emotional line.”

Survivor guilt and mixed feelings at the prospect that they may “meet their relatives on the other side” commonly surface, he said.

Rabbi Charles Rudansky, director of Jewish clinical services at Metropolitan Jewish Health System’s hospice in New York, reported similar experiences with Holocaust survivors he had counseled.

“Last time they saw their loved ones was hellish, hellish, hellish, and now they’re crossing that bridge,” said Rudansky.

Some Holocaust survivors are apprehensive at that prospect, he said, while others are “uplifted.” A usually talkative person may fall silent, while a quiet person may suddenly have a lot to say.

“I’ve been called in by Holocaust survivors who only want to speak with me so some human ears will have heard their plight,” said Freedman.

Jan Kellough, a counselor with Sivitz Jewish Hospice and Palliative Care in Pittsburgh, said she encourages, but never pushes, survivors to share their stories. While it can be therapeutic for some survivors to talk about the Holocaust, she said, it is problematic for others.

Rabbi Freedman giving a presentation to hospice workers in Baltimore, Maryland, spring 2015. (Courtesy: Dr. Gary Applebaum)
Rabbi Freedman giving a presentation to hospice workers in Baltimore, Maryland, spring 2015.

For some survivors, “there’s an attitude of not wanting to give up, there’s a strong will to fight and survive,” said Kellough.

Children and grandchildren of survivors can also struggle to cope with their loved ones’ terminal illness, said Rudansky.

He said such people tell the hospice staff, “’My grandfather, my father survived Auschwitz. You can’t tell me they can’t survive this!’ They have great difficulty in wrapping their heads around this is different — this is nature.”

That difficulty can be compounded by the fact that children of survivors may not have had much contact with death in their lives, said Rabbi David Rose, a hospice chaplain with the Jewish Social Service Agency in Rockville, Maryland.

Because so many of their family members were wiped out in the Holocaust, children of survivors may be less likely to have experienced the death of a grandparent or aunt or uncle.

“That’s one of the benefits of hospice. We work with them and their families to help them accept their diagnosis,” said Kellough.

Hospice offers families pre-bereavement counseling, 13-months of aftercare and access to preferred clergy.

Special sensitivity is paid to spouses who are also survivors.

“Survivor couples, particularly if they met before the war or just after the war are generally exceptionally protective of each other,” said Rose. “A few different couples come to mind – every time I visited, the partner was sitting right next to their spouse, holding hands the whole visit.”

Freedman underscored that chaplains are trained not to impose their religious ideas on families, but rather to listen to the patient and family’s wishes.

“I tell the people I train that if you’re doing more [than] 30 percent [of the] talking in the early stages of the relationship, then you’re doing it wrong,” said Freedman.

“Seventy percent of communication is coming from your ears, your eyes, your smile — not your talking. Rabbis tend to be loquacious, we’re talkative,” he said. “But when I’m with a family, I am an open book for them to write on.”

Though the work is emotionally demanding, Freedman said, “Helping people through natural death and dying is one of the most rewarding things people can do.”

 
Complete Article HERE!

Hospice veterinarian writes how dogs helped her, her mother through challenges of life, death

By SUE MANNING

Dr. Jessica Vogelsang, a hospice veterinarian for Paws Into Grace and the author of All Dogs Go To Kevin: Everything Three Dogs Taught Me, poses for a photo with Brody, her golden retriever Tuesday, July 28, 2015, in San Diego. Dogs provide comfort not just in death, but in other difficult times, whether it’s depression, job loss or a move across country. Dogs know when people are dying or grieving through body language cues, smells only they can detect and other ways not yet known, experts say.

For those who are dying, it’s clear why all dogs go to heaven.

They provide comfort not just in death, but in other difficult times, whether it’s depression, job loss or a move across country. Dogs know when people are dying or grieving through body language cues, smells only they can detect and other ways not yet known, experts say.

As a hospice veterinarian, Jessica Vogelsang knows how much “being there” can mean to struggling people or pets. She’s director of Paws Into Grace in Southern California, a group of vets who provide end-of-life care and euthanasia for pets at home.

The San Diego vet finished her first book, “All Dogs Go to Kevin: Everything Three Dogs Taught Me (That I Didn’t Learn in Veterinary School),” just before learning her mom, Patricia Marzec, had an inoperable brain tumor. The title of the memoir published last month refers to what Vogelsang’s toddler heard when he was told all dogs go to heaven.

Her parents moved in so Marzec could enjoy her last months with family, and Vogelsang’s golden retriever, Brody, picked up on the changes. He always jumped on her parents but stopped when they arrived in April.

“He knew Mom was sick. He was with her 24-7,” Vogelsang said. “He was trying not to be too obvious, but Dad was on one side and he was on the other.”

Brody would lay by Marzec’s feet or rest his head on her lap when he sensed she was sad. He wedged in next to her when hospice workers came by, ignoring her shaking hand as she patted his head, Vogelsang said.

“He is still my dog, but he knew when they came they needed him more than I did,” she said.

Dogs know to comfort people by sniffing out some cancers, such as on the breath of a lung cancer patient, said Dr. Bonnie Beaver, professor at Texas A&M University’s College of Veterinary Medicine and executive director of the American College of Veterinary Behaviorists.

But most often, it’s about body language.

“They recognize fragile, slumped over, not moving as well,” Beaver said. “That’s how they read each other. … They are great at it, and we are not.”

Some rest homes and hospices that have live-in dogs to comfort patients even use a dog’s behavior — such as who the animal chooses to sleep with — as a sign to tell relatives to come say their goodbyes.

“A lot of resident dogs know those people and know something is different, whether the smell changes or they are moving less,” Beaver said.

Dogs also can help those dealing with other challenges.

In the book, Vogelsang introduces pets that got her through some life changes. As a little girl, her Lhasa Apso named Taffy helped her adjust to an unwanted move from New England to California.

Just after the birth of her first child, her golden retriever Emmett wouldn’t leave her alone as she struggled with postpartum depression and a new career as a veterinarian. He gave her love, as well as looks that led to some soul-searching to get the help she needed, Vogelsang said.

Later, an older Labrador retriever named Kekoa taught her to let go of unrealistic expectations as she balanced career and motherhood. When the dog got cancer, Vogelsang didn’t push endless procedures and medications, because it wasn’t right for Kekoa. That led her into the hospice-care field.

After Vogelsang’s mother moved in, the family spent two months watching movies, eating cookies and watching butterflies flit across the yard. Pat Marzec even read her daughter’s book, giving her approval.

She died June 3, about a month before it went to print.

“Those last two months we had were just an incredible time,” Vogelsang said. “Death is just a moment. Life is everything else leading up to it.”

Complete Article HERE!

Island resident one of few to choose death with dignity

by SUSAN MCCABE

These days it’s common to openly discuss topics that past generations would have considered rude, such as sex, money, politics and religion. Death on the other hand, particularly one’s own, often remains a conversational taboo for many, though it’s probably one of the most important discussions to be had with those closest to us.

Greg Smith
Greg Smith

In this state, some people are taking that final topical frontier out of the humidor with death cafes and advanced directives. Some also are taking action with Compassion & Choices, the organization now working with residents in Washington, Vermont and Oregon who choose physician assisted suicide (PAS) when they are diagnosed with fewer than six months to live and no reprieve in sight. Former Washington Governor Booth Gardner led the voter initiative that legalized PAS in this state in 2008, as he faced his own demise from Parkinson’s disease.

Only a small number of people in Washington have taken advantage of the law since its passage. One of them, islander Greg Smith, followed through on his choice on July 27, peacefully surrounded by loved ones. Smith was a long-time advocate of death with dignity and, in an effort to enlighten others, he recorded a conversation with his friend, Lin Noah, on a Voice of Vashon episode of Island Crossroads about two weeks before his final going away party.

Smith was candid in telling the story of his battle with lung cancer, which returned “with a vengeance” two years ago. In May of this year, his doctors told him there was nothing more they could do and that he had two to six months to live. Smith said his decision to take his own life had germinated well before that — at his initial diagnosis.

“I’d seen friends and family members leave this mortal coil with the disease,” he explained, “and realized that was not the end I wanted for myself.”

To offer a chance for family and friends to say goodbye, Smith organized a party for the night before he was to drink his final cocktail.

To assure that key friends and family could attend, “I had to schedule my suicide around other people’s vacations,” he said laughing. He added that he chose a date just three months after his final diagnosis because he didn’t want his sons to go through the final stages of lung cancer with him.

Smith’s sons, ages 31 and 28, spent considerable time working with him to accept his early demise – Smith was only 61 – and respect his wishes for a peaceful passage. Smith called his choice an opportunity to “stand up with dignity, face cancer and embrace my sons one last time,” rather than dwindle from life in small and excruciating increments.

Snubbing his nose at cancer, Smith said he chose PAS to take control of his life away from the disease and end it on his own terms. Smith had written on a national PAS blog for some time, urging people in other states to have the freedom to choose. One reader took his impassioned diary to the American Medical Association’s (AMA) national convention. The follow-up report was that the AMA’s ethics committee reviewed Smith’s diary with fresh eyes, generating hope that the association might reconsider their opposition to PAS.

To those who would wonder if he might change his mind, Smith said he didn’t want to continue “playing roulette” with the end of his life and that he was ready to say goodbye. He added that with the awareness of death’s imminence, he felt he had used his time well, deepening important relationships.

Some would say doctors have been behind the curve in the move toward choices at the end of life. Naturopath Brad Lichtenstein leads so-called death cafes in Seattle, where people gather over coffee to address the inevitable, honestly and in a safe environment. He has stated that while most physicians eschew heroic measures at the end of their own lives in favor of dying quietly at home, they often implement every available life-prolonging tool for their patients.

“For a physician, when a patient dies, they’ve failed,” he explained.

Statistics show that more money is spent in the last months of life on extra measures that often will not prolong life at all. But, in the absence of a living will or advance directives, doctors will do everything possible to keep a patient technically alive.

Lichtenstein’s death cafes, the growth in the number of palliative care physicians and the entry of hospice care into the mainstream all herald changes in the end-of-life field. Soon, islanders will have access to a program to assist in the process of identifying preferences and creating advance directives for end of life before it is imminent. Called Honoring Choices, it is based on a model that originated in Lacrosse, Wisconsin, and will be offered by nurse practitioner Wendy Noble, and Carol Spangler, who has a graduate degree in public health. The two will offer facilitation services to families free of charge.

Noble and Spangler will host a presentation on Thursday by Bernard “Bud” Hammes, Ph.D., the medical ethicist who developed and directs the Wisconsin program (Respecting Choices). Hammes, an international leader in the field of end of life issues and advance care planning, has been featured on NPR, ABC’s Good Morning America, CBS Sunday Morning, NBC Rock Center and, most recently, on the PBS program, “Caring for Mom and Dad.”

He will appear with, among others, representatives from Honoring Choices Pacific Northwest, the Snohomish County Health Leadership Coalition and the Whatcom Alliance for Health Advancement, two organizations that have successfully implemented the program in their communities.

The presentation, according to Noble and Spangler, will provide specifics on what advance care planning means, why it’s important and what’s happening in the state to help people develop advance care plans.

What the two say they hope to do on Vashon is two-tiered. Their first step is to train others in the process of facilitating Honoring Choices.

“With a trained team,” said Noble, “we’ll begin small group conversations about advance directives and provide appropriate documents and instructions for completing and filing those directives.”

And when invited, they’ll meet with individuals and their families to help clarify their wishes for end of life health care.

As Spangler noted, “Determining and sharing end of life choices is a process. It’s a difficult discussion to start with one’s family.”

She and Noble say they are committed to helping Island residents start those discussions and share their decisions.

Professionals in the “death trade,” as it’s often referred to, agree that discussions of death and dying are really about living. With the implementation of this program, it appears that Vashon will soon be a place where people are ready to lead both the exploration and the conversation.

Complete Article HERE!

Drugs to prevent ‘death rattle’ of dying patients not justifiable if intention is only to reduce distress of relatives, says new guidelines

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The National Institute of Health and Care Excellence (NICE) says there is little evidence that the drugs used are effective

By CHARLIE COOPER

Drugs used to prevent the so-called “death rattle” of dying patients can have unpleasant side effects and may not be “morally and economically” justifiable if used only to reduce the distress of relatives, according to new guidelines.

The death rattle is a common symptom in the final days and hours before death. It is one of most well-known indicators that death is near and can be extremely upsetting for relatives at the bedside.

It occurs when secretions such as saliva collect at the back of the throat – often after a person has lost their ability to swallow – creating a hollow, gurgling sound.

Clinicians often use drugs called anti-muscarinic agents to ‘dry up’ the secretions, in order to reduce the symptoms.

However, according to new draft guidance on the care of the dying from the National Institute of Health and Care Excellence (NICE), there is little evidence that the drugs are effective, and they can also cause side effects including dryness in the mouth, blurred vision and retention of urine.

The guidance says that repositioning the patient or using suction tubes can be just as effective at reducing the symptoms.

“It is common to experience noisy respiratory secretions at the end of life…and the death rattle is a strong predictor of death,” the draft guidance says. “The noise can cause considerable distress, both at the time and possibly after death, due to concerns that the person may have drowned or suffocated to death.

“For many years it has been the practice of clinicians to administer subcutaneous anti-muscarinic agents in an attempt to ‘dry up’ secretions and relieve any distress primarily to carers and relatives despite a lack of evidence of any beneficial effect to the patient or improvement in distress levels.”

It goes on to say that, along with the side effects, the cost of using drugs makes it “hard both morally and economically to justify their continued use when the current evidence does not support them and treatment is usually aimed at minimising distress of people other than the dying person.”

The new guidance also includes recommendations on fluid intake for dying people, decision-making around medication and communication with patients and relatives.

Their publication follows the abolition last year of the controversial Liverpool Care Pathway (LCP), which was withdrawn after a review found serious failings in the way it was being implemented, including concerns that decisions around end of life care were not always being made by experienced clinicians.

NICE also said the LCP had suffered from a “perception that hydration and some essential medications may have been withheld or withdrawn, with negative impact on the dying process.”

The new guidelines, which will now go out for consultation, state that people in the last days of life should be encouraged to drink if they are able and wish to.

Sir Andrew Dillon, chief executive of NICE said: “Recognising when we are close to death and helping us to remain comfortable is difficult for everyone involved.

“Earlier this year the Parliamentary and Health Service Ombudsman said that end of life care could be improved for up to 335,000 people every year in England. The guideline we are developing will ensure that people who are nearing the end of their lives are treated with respect and receive excellent care.”

Complete Article HERE!

I help terminally-ill parents leave stories behind for their children

Working with cancer patients makes me more determined to experience all that life has to offer, but sometimes the pain is more than I can bear

By Rachel Smith

Rachel Smith
‘I love to swim in the sea all year round – it makes me feel acutely alive.’

We all have an idea of how life is going to be, but mine has changed radically in the past seven years. I work on a project for children whose parents have cancer, helping them understand the illness and supporting them when their parent dies. I also support parents to communicate with children and, when the prognosis is not looking positive, I help them write books and letters for the family they are leaving behind.

I spend months, sometimes years, getting to know a family and then one day while going about my daily life I will receive a text, often early in the morning saying “he slipped away at 4am” or “Rachel, he’s gone”. Over the past seven years I have experienced so many losses in my work. I try to remain emotionally separate, but I am human, a compassionate human, and it hurts every time. Often I check my work phone just before doing the school run. I drive my two young children to school and then cry as I go on to work. It is not the same gut-wrenching loss as that of a personal loved one, but silent tears in the knowledge that a family’s world has shattered.

As I arrive in work, all the normal things are happening. People in the kitchen are talking about diets, referrals for new families are coming in and I am trying to fathom how I can fit a funeral into my week if the family need me to attend. I often get told by families that I’m the one who remained real throughout everything, and I don’t want to let them down at the end.

When working in end-of-life care the level of intimacy with someone changes completely. Time becomes the most precious commodity and communication is honest. To be able to give someone the chance to convey their dreams is an honour, but it takes its toll.

Recently, a gentleman I worked with died. I had known his family for six years, Ifilmed his eulogy and hours of footage for his family. The magnitude of life and death suddenly hit me. I felt I had reached a limit of sadness and could not take any more. I needed time to think, to feel alive again and to be surrounded by life.

In this job there is no place for burnt-out heroes or martyrs. We all have a limit and I felt like an empty cup. I find that to cope I need to strip life back: I want to feel the world around me, the rain falling on my face and be in places of natural beauty. I need to be with people I love, who understand my job without needing to talk about it. Talking is exactly what I don’t want to do; I want to laugh and be outside. I love to swim in the sea all year round – it makes me feel acutely alive.

When recording books with people a common plea I hear is “I have no regrets, I just wish I had more time”. So I create time in my own life; I breathe, love, hug and do all those clichéd things so that I can go back into work and be useful again. I refill my cup. I think that when working in such a profession, at times we need to bend the boundaries to be human and to understand that is what people need. It is ok to be hurt and show hurt, to put your hands up and say I need a break, I need to go and breathe for a while.

To finish, I shall leave you with words by Fiona, who wrote this for her three children two weeks before she died.

“You are meant to be here. I believe that although I wanted to be here and share your life: the ups and the downs. God needs me elsewhere and you have to stay on Earth. Be a good friend and surround yourself with good friends. You don’t need to be the most popular one, the most strong or the most clever. But always be a good friend to those around you.”

Complete Article HERE!

Everything you ever wanted to know about death but were too afraid to ask

By 

When Ally Mosher’s​ grandfather died, the experience was far from peaceful. His death in hospital after a series of strokes was “chaotic and traumatic and something my grandmother knew she didn’t want for herself”.

After clearly expressing her wishes, Ms Mosher’s grandmother Margaret Butler died quietly at the age of 94 last month. She was in her own bed, in comfort and surrounded by close family members.

“Knowing what she wanted made it a lot easier for us,” Ms Mosher said. “We knew she wanted us to be there when she passed and my mum was holding her hand. It sounds like an odd thing to say but it was a perfect death.”

Ally Mosher, whose grandmother died a few weeks ago, is learning how to deal with bereavement in a positive way.

While we are familiar with the idea of living well, the idea of dying well is relatively new but one gaining momentum in the wider community.

Ms Mosher, a graphic designer from Hazelbrook, uses her own experience to promote “death literacy” although she admits not everyone is comfortable with the subject.

“There is a social stigma about death,” she said. “You can’t talk about death in a healthy, positive way. If you are talking about death you must be weird or morbid.”

Community group The Groundswell Project has spent the past five years creating wider awareness about dying to help overcome reluctance to address the issue.

The group has come up with 10 things people need to know about death, with workshops on the topic to be launched in conjunction with Dying to Know Day on August 8.

The Groundswell Project’s director, Kerrie Noonan, a clinical psychologist specialising in palliative care, found most people sought practical advice about death.

“People really wanted more information about the nuts and bolts stuff,” she said. “What do I need to tell my family? How do I approach the subject with them?”

A report by The Grattan Institute published last year found found that dying in Australia was more institutionalised than the rest of the world, with the majority of people dying in hospital or a residential care facility.

“We’re not around death,” Ms Noonan said. “Death is removed; it takes place in a hospital or a hospice. We don’t have a context for having conversations about death.”

Things to know before you go:

1. Make a plan. Fewer than 5 per cent of people have an end of life plan.

2. Write a will. Only 55 per cent of people who die have a will.

3. Tell someone what you want. Of those who know they are dying, only 25 per cent will have spoken to their families about their wishes.

4. Only 30 per cent of deaths are unexpected. Make a decision about how you want to die while you have time.

5. Doctors don’t die like the rest of us. They are more likely to die at home with less invasive intervention at the end of their lives.

6. Earlier referral to palliative care means living longer with better quality of life.

7. You don’t need a funeral director. DIY funerals are becoming more popular.

8. The majority of Australians choose cremation but there are alternatives including natural burial, burial at sea or donating your body for research.

9. We don’t grieve in stages. Only 10 per cent of us need professional support after a death.

10. 60 per cent of people think we need to spend more time talking about death.

Read more: http://www.smh.com.au/nsw/everything-you-ever-wanted-to-know-about-death-but-were-too-afraid-to-ask-20150730-gij35d.html#ixzz3hNlfhyTU

Complete Article HERE!

I’ve Been There For Hundreds Of Dying People — Here’s What I’ve Learned

By 

Over the past six years, I have watched hundreds of people transition from life to death ­— sitting with them in hospice care or in the comfort of their own homes as they sometimes peacefully, sometimes painfully, drew their last breaths. This was my commitment as a hospice volunteer: to support as many individuals as I could in the dying process. This role is becoming increasingly popular as society lifts the veil of silence that surrounds death.

My path to this calling was unexpected. When I met Coop a little over a decade ago, I was 18, fresh out of high school, and eager to explore what early adulthood was like. I didn’t know then that the redheaded flight attendant and comedian would become my first love — and my first great loss. Our first date began with a disclosure. “I have stage-four lung cancer and it is likely terminal,” she told me. Mesmerized by her presence, I decided to overlook that minor detail. Her fiery hair was intact, she laughed like a courageous hyena, and she was spunkier than anyone I had ever met. I told myself that she was going to be just fine.

We proceeded to get to know one another, though we did things slightly differently than the norm. Instead of going to the movies, we watched movies in the chemotherapy wing of the hospital. Our sleepovers were often spent cuddled up on a hospital bed; we proved two people could fit. Aside from the needles and nausea, we were just two people falling in love.

Frightened by the situation, friends would ask, “How can you do this, fall in love with someone who is dying?” My response was unrehearsed and rather simple: “We don’t choose who we fall in love with. It just happens.”

It definitely happened.

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As I became well-versed in cancer lingo, I slowly morphed into the caregiver for a declining middle-aged woman — who was also my lover. From a radical acceptance of the situation on a Monday to kicking and screaming resistance that Wednesday, we rode the emotional end-of-life roller coaster together. Coop’s wild ride in this life ended on December 7, 2008. My heart broke that day: the day I began my solo ride.

Weighed down and often immobile in a deep pit of grief, my raw heart ached for her return. I was clueless about loss, but I managed to reach out to a local hospice that guided me to their bereavement team. A very caring social worker and chaplain showed up at my door just a few days later. She offered a presence that I was desperately hungry for. The most important gift she gave me, however, was her willingness to listen. I have come to understand now that listening is the most powerful gift you can offer someone who is grieving. Most people feel like they have to fill the space with words, but open space is what gives the other person permission for grief, praise, and healing.

During our meeting that day, the social worker planted a seed. “I don’t normally say this to people who are in your position,” I recall her telling me, “but I feel that once you have healed some, you may consider involving yourself in hospice.” I barely heard her at the time, but after a while, I returned to her words again and again.

Two years after Coop’s death, I found myself volunteering for a hospice organization. A patient I saw frequently brought me an immense amount of healing. Her name was Leslie, also the name of my mother. Diagnosed with schizophrenia and 48 years old, Leslie was actively dying with no family or friends to support her. I will never forget the day I went into her room, expecting to see her frail in bed, when to my surprise, she jumped up, turned the radio on, and danced all around the room. Although she was dying, her spirit soared. I learned a valuable lesson that day: Though someone may be dying, their soul remains whole.

I was blessed with the gift of being with her just moments before she died. I watched the thrombosis in her neck and massaged her feet, which were slowly losing circulation. Most importantly, I let her know that it was safe to let go.

About a year later, my best friend, Sreeja, took her own life. Grief pierced my heart once again and a lot of my old wounds reopened. It was a pivotal point in my life — the moment I made a choice that would change its course. I realized that Sreeja, Coop, and Leslie were catalysts in my life, pushing me to get as intimate as possible with love, spirituality, and death. After Sreeja died, instead of fighting death, this time I welcomed it. I invited it in as a guest. I offered it a cup of tea. Stretching my broken heart open, I discovered that my passion and work in this world resides in end-of-life care and advocacy, in helping people understand and embrace their mortality.

When we have the willingness to truly acknowledge death, we open ourselves to become that much closer to life. As an end-of-life advocate, death has become my way of life. I believe it is meant to break us down, because in the rebuilding, we have a critical decision to make: Can we be open enough to allow the loss of loved one or our own mortality to transform us?

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At the end of last year, I established The Conscious Dying Network, an organization that offers retreat-style workshops and an annual summit on topics of conscious dying, aging, caregiving, and grief. We have a network of teachers and end-of-life pioneers and the message at the core of our work is that we will all die. We don’t know exactly how or when, but we can be 100% sure it will happen. The work, then, lies in getting comfortable with that information, working through our fears, and asking what this truth has to offer each of us in our day-to-day living.

Though they were always painful, over time, my reactions to death morphed from anguish to acceptance. Yes, there was still an ache, but it was accompanied with a bittersweet truth: We will all die. My friend Maitreya has a saying, “Good people die, sick people die, healthy people die, bad people die — we will all die.” She’s right. None of us know when we will go, and it is this moment-to-moment uncertainty that leads me to follow my current path — of reimagining how we approach death — in whatever moments I do have here.

My intention is to continue bringing awareness and presence to the bedsides of those who are dying and those who are living. We will all take the same grand leap one day. Life and death are not separate, but all part of the same journey — and when we find appreciation for the beautiful gift that is our own mortality, we discover that life can be good again after the loss of a loved one. I am living proof.

Complete Article HERE!