Learning to Talk About Death

I was introduced to death earlier than many people, and in a strange way, I am grateful for it. I can still remember my first visit to a funeral home with my Dad at the age of six. It wasn’t during a wake surrounded by loved ones, old stories, and homemade goodies. It was quiet. Intentional. He took me in before everything began so that I could understand what had happened to my beloved uncle. There was no hiding from it, no softening around the edges. He believed it was important that I see, really see, what death meant. That moment shaped me more than I realized at the time.  

From this young age, I learned a simple but profound truth: death is coming for all of us. It’s not something we can outrun or avoid, no matter how hard we try. But what we can control is how we choose to face it. We can ignore it, pretend it doesn’t exist, push it into quiet corners. Or we can acknowledge it, talk about it, and allow it to deepen the way we love and show up for one another. What my father gave me in that quiet funeral home was a gentle honest kind of bravery. He helped me build the courage to look directly at something that many people spend their entire lives trying to avoid.  

Over the years, I’ve witnessed different ways people respond to death. Some lean in, embracing the time they have left or the time they have with someone they love. Others withdraw, unable or unwilling to engage with the reality unfolding in front of them. One of the most powerful experiences I’ve had was when my brother-in-law was dying. Rather than retreating from the reality of his situation, he embraced it. He welcomed visitors, people who wanted to talk openly about death itself.  

One visitor was a professor from Western University, who also happened to be his doctor and asked if he could bring a group of medical students in to speak with him. The answer was of course yes, and what was intended to be a quick chat ended up being a near hour long conversation. The goal of his doctor was simple but often overlooked: to help future physicians understand that their role isn’t only to help people live, but also to help them die. While that distinction became crystal clear for me during that time, it was later echoed when Deb was in Hospice.  

We had acute care nurses visiting Deb in hospice, and many of them struggled with what they were seeing. Their training had always focused on intervention, recovery, and saving lives. But hospice care is different. It requires a shift in perspective from curing to comforting, from fighting to allowing. For some, that transition was difficult. They weren’t equipped, emotionally or professionally, to sit with death in a way that honored the person rather than resisted the inevitable. Watching this unfold reinforced something I had known since childhood: We need to talk about death. We need to prepare, not just medically, but emotionally and spiritually for what it means to reach the end of a life. 

I believe, if we are fortunate, we will know when that time is coming. If we are given that gift, for ourselves or for someone we love, we have an opportunity, not to turn away, but to lean in. Time to say what needs to be said, a chance to express love, gratitude, and forgiveness., a moment to sit in the discomfort of goodbye and make it meaningful.  

I had an Aunt that understood this in the most beautiful way. When she knew her time was near, she called for all of us to come and see her. One by one, we were given a few moments alone with her. Time slowed down in those conversations. I was in my teens but could still feel the weight of the moment. There was no pretense, just presence. When I walked into her hospital room, she looked at me with a calm certainty that I will never forget. She told me that I would not be seeing her again and that she loved me very dearly. There was a warmth in that moment, an honesty and a tenderness, that has stayed with me ever since. It didn’t feel like an ending. It felt like a gift.  

Our memories are what keep our loved ones alive. But those memories are shaped by how we show up in the moments that matter most. When we choose to acknowledge death instead of avoiding it, we create space for connection, for closure, and for love that lingers long after someone is gone. Talking about death doesn’t make it come any sooner. It simply allows us to meet it with wide open hearts and eyes. In doing so, we honor not just the end of a life but everything that came before it.