365 Hospice

08/12/2025

We tend to think there will be more time, more mornings to say “I love you,” more phone calls to make things right, more moments to speak the words we have been holding in. But time has a way of slipping quietly through our hands. Waiting for the bedside, for the “last chance,” is a gamble none of us can afford to take. The truth is, the moments we have right now are the most certain ones we will ever get. Say the things. Express the love. Speak the gratitude. Don’t let your silence become a weight you will wish you could set down.

If forgiveness is possible, offer it, not to erase or condone what happened, but to free your heart from carrying the heaviness any longer. Apologize where you need to, own what you have said or done, and let people know where they stand in your heart. Regret has a sharp edge when the chance to speak is gone, and no amount of wishing can turn back the clock.

The words you share today will not only change the person who hears them, they will change you too.

xo
Gabby
www.thehospiceheart.net

08/08/2025

08/08/2025

We had a ball of fun at the carnival!!! Thank you for having us!!

08/05/2025

Death is not a punishment, nor is it something we can outsmart or avoid. It’s simply part of being human, a quiet certainty that connects us all. And while it can be uncomfortable to think about, acknowledging that truth doesn’t have to bring fear. It can bring clarity.

When we accept that life isn’t endless, we begin to move through it differently. We stop waiting for the “right time” and start paying closer attention to the time we have. The conversations matter more. The moments feel fuller. We begin to let go of what drains us and lean into what fills us. We love more honestly. We show up more fully.

This is the gift of awareness, not to be weighed down by death, but to be lifted by the chance to live with greater intention. To treat each day not as an obligation, but as an offering. And to remember, gently and often, that our time here is precious, not because it lasts forever, but because it doesn’t.

I’ll say that again… one more time a little bit louder so the people in the back can hear it too… our time here is precious, not because it lasts forever, but because it doesn’t.

xo
Gabby
www.thehospiceheart.net

08/02/2025

Grief feels like yesterday all over again.

It’s waking up and remembering, for the hundredth time, that you are not here. It’s all the yesterday’s we shared: the phone calls, the routines, the inside jokes, the comfort of knowing I could reach you. It’s where my mind drifts when today feels too sharp, too empty. Yesterday is where you still feel real. And today… is learning how to live with your absence.

There were so many yesterdays. So many moments that felt like they could go on forever. And now, there’s today without you, and the weight of tomorrow that feels too big without your voice in it.

Maybe that’s what grief really is, a constant reaching for yesterday while trying to survive today. It’s love that didn’t get to finish its sentence. And as painful as that is, it’s also a reminder of how deeply we have loved, how fully we have lived. So if you find yourself sitting in your own yesterdays, let it be with tenderness. Let it be with grace. Because you are not going backward, you are just remembering. And that remembering is its own kind of love.

If you feel this too, if your grief pulls you back in time and leaves you aching for just one more ordinary moment, know you’re not alone. I get it. I feel that way too.

xo
Gabby
www.thehospiceheart.net

08/01/2025

Huge Thank you to Janine from 365 Hospice for a great time and delicious Ice Cream!

08/01/2025

Hope.

I’ve never seen hope as a problem. In fact, I welcome it, because hope is often the only thing that helps someone get through the uncertainty of dying. People hope for more time, for less pain, for one more good day. They hope to see someone they love again, to be remembered, to not be afraid. And none of that needs to be extinguished just because the body is declining.

It is never my intention to put out that spark of light in someone’s eyes. My role isn’t to correct or confront what they believe might still be possible. My role is to stand beside them, gently helping them prepare while still leaving room for their hope to breathe. Because hope changes shape, it doesn’t always vanish. And when we honor that shift, we give people space to be human.

So if you are holding out hope, I want you to know, that it is okay. It doesn’t mean you are in denial. It means you love deeply. And sometimes, love sounds like “I’m still hoping.”

xo
Gabby

You can find this blog here:
https://www.thehospiceheart.net/post/_hope

08/01/2025

This poem is born from reflection on all the love I’ve seen and the difficult goodbyes we sometimes must face. Our memories often feel like unwritten love letters, silent messages that continue to play in our minds and hearts long after someone has gone. When you revisit these memories, when you re-read those unspoken words, you are gifted with a gentle moment in time, a reminder of how much love was shared and how deeply you were loved. It is a tender reminder that, even in absence, love endures.

It started gently...
not with fireworks, but with something easy.
A look that lingered,
a feeling that felt safe.
Love showed up slowly,
in morning coffee, shared blankets,
and the way one person always waited for the other to walk through the door.

The memories live in the smallest things now...
a scent, a song, a place you haven’t been in years.
They return like soft echoes,
reminding you of what it was to belong to someone,
to be part of something quietly beautiful.
You may not remember every detail,
but you remember how it felt to be loved like that.

Over time, it becomes the story you hold close...
the first kiss that made the world pause,
the last one that held on just a little too long
or not long enough.
You find ways to speak of them,
without saying their name,
as if telling the story keeps a part of them here,
woven into your every day.

And when the final breath is taken...
it doesn’t erase what was shared,
The love remains, tucked inside you
steady, unshaken.
It becomes the letter you never had to write,
because your life together was the ink.
And long after goodbye,
it is still being written.

xo
Gabby

You can find this poem here:
https://www.thehospiceheart.net/post/the-love-letter