07/08/2026
I know I talk about this often, but it is because I believe so deeply in the importance of having conversations about death and dying before we are sitting at the bedside.
Talking about death and dying will not make it happen sooner, and silence will not slow it down.
What these conversations do is help the people we love know what matters most to us if a time comes when we can no longer speak for ourselves.
I received a call from a woman I had never met. She had been given my name by someone I had supported before. Her mother had a sudden change in condition and was in the hospital, no longer responsive. She was about to board a flight to come see her mother who she hadn’t seen in a few years.
I could hear the helplessness in her voice. She felt lost and kept asking, “What can I do for her? How can I support her? What does she need?”
I asked what she knew about her mother. She told me her mother had a strong faith, so I said, “Then the first thing you can do is pray with her.”
So when she arrived at the hospital, she sat beside her mother and prayed.
Later, when we met in person, we went together to her mother’s apartment and looked for the things that might feel familiar and comforting. We found her pajamas, a quilt from her bed, a few photos, her hairbrush, a small mirror, Chapstick, and her Bible.
We brought those things back to the hospital. Together, we changed her mother into her pajamas, laid the quilt over her, and placed her personal belongings beside her bed.
Her daughter read prayers to her for three days.
And then her mother woke up.
One of the first things she said was, “You prayed for me.”
That moment meant everything.
It told her daughter that her mother had heard her. That she knew she was there. That even in the silence, something between them had connected.
Her mother pulled the quilt up close to her, almost as if she were being held by it. And her daughter knew she had brought her something that mattered.
Her mother lived three more days, but in those three days, they connected in a way they may not have otherwise. There had been distance between them, but at the bedside, something softened.
Her daughter called me the morning her mother had died.
The voice I heard was not the same voice I heard during that first call. There was grief, of course, but there was also peace.
Peace because she knew her mother had heard her.
Peace because she knew her mother knew she was there.
Peace because she had done what she believed would bring her mother comfort.
This is why the conversation matters.
Not just the big conversations about medical decisions, but the tender ones too.
What brings you comfort?
What prayers, songs, or words would matter to you?
What blanket would feel like home?
What small things would you want near you?
What would help the people who love you know how to show up?
Because if the time comes when we no longer have a voice, the people we love can become our voice.
And sometimes, knowing what brings someone peace is one of the most beautiful ways we can honor them.
xo
Gabby
www.thehospiceheart.net
If you need a little help getting the conversation started, my book might be helpful:
https://www.amazon.com/Conversation-guide-talking-about-people/dp/B0CZXD4BT4/ref=pd_aw_sim_hxwPM1_sspa_mw_detail_m_sccl_2_6/147-8092894-3630558?
