About Me

"Memento mori - Remember you will die." - Max Ehrmann

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The first time I experienced death, I was 9 years old. I remember sitting at the kitchen table. The phone rang. I must have sensed something was wrong because I went over to my mother and wrapped my arms around her waist. She hung up the phone and announced that my aunt had passed away. I knew my aunt was sick but there was never any talk about her dying. My mother gently hushed me and told me not to cry. I was not invited to the funeral as "funerals were not for children."

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My maternal grandfather died when I was 13. He had a stroke in our house while I and a few of my friends lay sunning ourselves on the driveway trying to warm up from a dip in the pool. An ambulance pulled up and took my grandfather away. I faintly remember visiting him in the hospital—an average-sized man with a full head of ghost-white hair. A few days later he died quietly in the hospital sometime between when my uncle left his bedside and before my mother arrived.

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I was 21 when my maternal grandmother died. It was my first experience with the dying process. My grandmother died in the hospital. She lay in a bed not eating or drinking. At the time I didn't understand the "cruelty" of her "starving" to death. I would learn later that her body no longer required sustenance. No amount of water or digestive biscuits (her favourite cookies) would stave off death.

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My mother celebrated her last birthday on November 18, 2017. She died just five days after her 71st birthday. I was 48. After several years of diagnoses, interventions, stability, and setbacks, my mother came to a place of quiet acceptance. She spent her last few weeks preparing her children for a loss she would neither be able to console nor mend. She died at home with her children sitting vigil until her last breath. 

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Eighteen months after my mother's death my father died. I was almost 50. His illness was surprising and short. It came with no warning signs and had no cure. Two weeks after his diagnosis, he was gone. His death and my witnessing of it was the most transformative moment of my life. His death set me on a path to a life's purpose.

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After my father's death, I replayed the weeks, days, and hours leading up to the morning he died. I started scrutinizing the generally accepted end-of-life practices and wondering if there wasn't a more person-centred way to help people with life-limiting illnesses and their families plan for and experience a "good death."

 

Was there a more holistic approach that allowed a dying person to explore social, physical, emotional, and spiritual aspects as they faced death? Was there someone who could help them create their advanced care plan, support them and their family through death care, create a legacy remembrance, and be there for their family and friends when they were no longer there? 

  

The answer is yes and that's what I provide. I serve the dying by providing a non-medical holistic approach that emphasizes the whole person and is rooted in person-centred care and companionship. With compassion, empathy, and purpose, I contribute to and participate in as much, or as little, end-of-life care as the dying person and their loved ones want.