23/07/2025
Precious moments 💜🌈
I read this book three years too late. My father died asking for his shoes—over and over, those last two weeks, he'd wake up asking where his shoes were, and I'd gently tell him he was in bed, he didn't need shoes. I thought I was being kind. I thought I was helping him stay oriented to reality.
I was wrong.
Maggie Callanan and Patricia Kelley's "Final Gifts" taught me that my father wasn't confused; he was trying to tell me he was ready to walk somewhere I couldn't follow. This book, written by two hospice nurses who've witnessed thousands of deaths, cracked my heart open and then carefully pieced it back together with understanding.
Five Lessons That Changed How I See Death
1. They're Not Confused—They're Speaking in Code
When dying people talk about traveling, needing tickets, or packing bags, they're not lost. They're telling us they're preparing to leave. My father's shoes weren't about his feet—they were about his journey. I wish I'd asked him where he wanted to walk instead of telling him he was safe in bed. The authors show us how to listen for the metaphor beneath the literal words, how to enter their world instead of dragging them back to ours.
2. Everyone Gets Visitors We Can't See
Almost every dying person talks to people who aren't there—dead relatives, old friends, sometimes strangers. The nurses explain this isn't medication or hallucinations; it's normal. It's perhaps the most normal thing about dying. My grandmother saw her mother in the corner of her hospital room for days before she died. We kept telling her Grandma Kate wasn't there. Now I understand she was introducing us to her welcoming committee.
3. Sometimes Love Means Saying Goodbye
The dying often wait. They wait until everyone arrives, or until someone leaves, or until they get permission to go. My friend Sarah sat with her comatose mother for days until she finally whispered, "Mom, it's okay. I'll be okay." Her mother died that night. The authors taught me that sometimes the most loving thing we can do is let them know we'll survive their leaving.
4. The Timing Is Usually Theirs
People often die when they're alone, even after days of surrounded vigil. Or they wait until the exact moment their estranged son walks in. This isn't coincidence—it's choice. The book helped me understand that my uncle, who died the morning after Christmas when no one was at the hospital, didn't die alone. He died when he was ready, which was exactly when he needed to.
5. They're Still Teaching Us
Even in dying—especially in dying—our loved ones have things to show us. About grace, about letting go, about what really matters. My father, who spent his life fixing things for everyone else, taught me in his dying that some things can't be fixed, only witnessed. Some journeys must be taken alone, and our job isn't to prevent them but to love well right up to the edge.
You see, we're all going to face death, either our own or someone else's. This book makes that terrifying prospect feel less frightening and infinitely more sacred. I just wish I'd read it sooner.
THE BOOK: https://amzn.to/4lDShVQ
