08/12/2025
I realize this is kind of lengthy, but I wanted to share with you what I have learned while providing end of life care… these are my lessons.
xo
Gabby
I went to nursing school in my late forties because I felt called to hospice work. While caring for a dying friend, I felt a sense of peace at his bedside, as though I had finally found the place I was meant to be. This work is intimate, personal, powerful, and always new. No matter how many last breaths I witness, it always feels like the first. It is an honor to sit with someone who is dying and with those who love them.
Each first hello and final goodbye reminds me how fragile and unpredictable life is. I want to be the last kind word someone hears. I want to ease fears, offer comfort, and remind people they are not alone. Seeing patients early in their diagnosis allows me to learn who they are, what they want, and how they wish to be cared for. If I’m fortunate, I meet their families and hear their stories.
I have learned that human beings deserve to be cared for well when they are dying; heard, validated, and respected. Listening is the foundation of this work. If we lean in and truly hear what people need, we can honor their wishes. Every person I meet teaches me something about life, love, and compassion.
One of the greatest lessons has been understanding what it means to meet people where they are. Their journey is not about me. It is not my place to tell them what they should feel or decide. Meeting someone where they are requires listening without judgment, asking honest questions, and honoring their humanity. It asks us to set aside our own wishes so we can truly see and support them.
I’ve also learned that I don’t have to be there for the very last breath. What matters is showing up with intention and giving value to the time I am there. End-of-life work places us on an emotional seesaw, sad they are gone, grateful they let go. Attachment happens. And when it does, self-care becomes essential. If we ever stop feeling the weight and beauty of this work, that’s when we should question whether we should continue doing it.
Our presence at the bedside is not only for the patient, it is for those preparing to say goodbye. The caregiver, often a partner, child, or close friend, slides into a role they never asked for. They need support the moment that shift happens. Offering a meal, running an errand, or giving them a break can make a profound difference.
Providing care creates a bond, and with that bond comes grief. When the time comes to say goodbye, the loss is real. You cannot hold that alone. Reach out. Ask for support. Vulnerability is not weakness; it is a sign of being human in work that asks so much of our hearts.
Every day I ask myself, What did I do well? What could I have done differently? What did I learn? This helps me stay grounded in what matters most: that a human being was cared for well. Death reminds me to pay closer attention to life. Each last breath shocks me with its finality and its fragility.
Working in this field while navigating personal losses creates its own tension, between standing still and rushing past your grief. Neither is healthy. Facing those feelings head-on, naming them, and tending to them allows the “sticky” parts of grief to soften. Self-care is not optional; it is the anchor that lets us hold space for others. Journaling, movement, cooking, time with loved ones, these keep us centered. This work is beautiful, but it cannot be everything.
I cry easily, and early in my career I thought I had to hold it in. A hospice doctor once looked me in the eyes and told me to feel what I was feeling. He reminded me that we are witnessing the end of a life, and if I ever stop feeling sadness, that is when I should worry. Their experience is not about us, and projecting what we think they need is not helpful. Listening is.
One thing I know for certain: this is not about us. We are not here to judge someone’s life, their choices, or relationships. Whether or not they have a voice near the end, their wishes matter.
People often ask why someone is taking so long to let go, or why they have to die at all. The truth is, there is no answer. Life happens, and then death happens, and the space in between is where memories live. When time is cut short, we are reminded to ask:
Did I live well? Did I make memories that mattered? Do the people I love know it?
What matters most is that every human being is cared for with respect at the end of life, regardless of any choices we may not understand or agree with.
I often think of this quote by Colin Powell:
“Don’t just show kindness in passing or to be courteous. Show it in depth, show it with passion, and expect nothing in return.”
If you are providing end-of-life care, please know the difference you make. Your presence offers peace and trust, sometimes more than anyone else in the patient’s life. People often share fears or unfinished thoughts with us because they do not want to add to their family’s pain. Listening, not fixing, builds trust, and trust is a gift.
When you meet someone who is dying, remember what this moment means for them. Time suddenly becomes precious. There may be regret, anger, sadness, or spiritual pain. Your presence may be the safe place where they can lay some of that down.
Being with someone who is dying is an honor. When you first meet them, instead of asking how they are, because we know how they are, simply tell them, “It is an honor to meet you.” Let the relationship begin there. You are going to make a difference in their life, and I love you for that.
xo
Gabby
You can find this blog here:
https://www.thehospiceheart.net/post/what-i-have-learned-from-providing-end-of-life-care
