Death

I grew up living with my grandparents, my mom their caretaker. This was my normal. My grandma was my very best friend. When she died in May 1989 after lingering illnesses and my dad died from NHLymphoma 3 months later, my teenage empath self became an unofficial death doula.

I can’t tell you how many people I’ve loved and supported over the years with end-of-life issues. The content is all too familiar and easy for me to discuss. It’s painful, but beautiful to have that sense of peace over dying and not be afraid.

My beautiful bestie who passed last week was not afraid. She lived a full life and was willing to do whatever she could to keep living but understood every day was a gift. She left our world suddenly, but peacefully. As an intensely private person, she told very few about her illness.

I am grieving and will be lost without her. I can’t even count how many concerts and musicals and wine tours and movies and dinners and time in our pool & hot tub and family celebrations we’ve attended over the years. Hundreds upon hundreds. She was my dependable rock. I will miss her fiercely.

And despite the intense grief and FUCK YOU DEATH energy I’m personally dealing with, all I want to do is envelope our mutuals in a ginormous hug and cry and laugh and listen and help them in anyway I can. I really should look into the death doula world…

If I didn’t so often struggle with mental illness depression <and anxiety> I would probably have already been working in this field, but at times the self-care and preservation has to come first. I have not always been able to be there for people depending on my own mental state.