“Death has taught me that there is never enough time – whether it’s a sudden death, or a slower and expected deterioration, you can never fully prepare yourself.
“I’ve learnt so much from so many patients and colleagues over the years, as well as my own family and personal experiences. I’m so lucky to care for some of the strongest, most resilient and inspiring people.
“I’ve seen that when facing death, you can still find the happiness if you look for it; there may need to be some adjustments and flexibility, but experiences can still be meaningful.
“As hospice nurses we tell people that “death is a roller coaster of emotions”, but when I experienced a sudden loss of a family member last year, it completely blindsided me about how true that statement is. I think I went through the whole spectrum – deep sadness, empathy for my other relatives, anger, guilt, everything.
“But my main takeaway now is the gratefulness I feel. Grateful to have had such an incredible grandma for as long as I did, grateful to be healthy and happy and very grateful that I can make a difference to others who experience death. That’s a real privilege.”
“Death has taught me that people really do die. My husband Andrew was my first major loss. I never knew it would be possible to lose him – “’til death do us part” was just a saying, until I found out the true meaning of the phrase.
“Now I have a great sense of sadness, not for me, but for Andrew and our two children, who should have had more time together and it feels very unfair that they didn’t.
“Almost three years on and I can see their grief being expressed in different emotions from sadness to anger. I’ve come to realise that grief leaves such a mark that you may never fully heal from.
“There’s no escaping it, death comes to us all. In the eventuality of my own death, I’ve had to be practical by making financial preparations for my children.
“I really didn’t think it could happen in our small family, but I’ve come to accept that death is real and can happen to anyone at any time.”
“I think losing my daughter has ripped me in to a million tiny pieces. I have felt unbelievable grief and sadness, and I personally don’t think there is a word that can sum it up. It’s anger, bitterness, pity, sorrow, anxiety, feeling of failure through not being able to protect, worthlessness.
“I have fought really hard not to wallow in self-pity, so that my children can have as normal a life as possible after losing their sister. But I think it would be fair to say, that we are all irreparably damaged; doing our best to be the next best version of the person that we would have been before.
“Slowly but surely, it has become easier to stop imagining the graduation, the wedding, the children that would never be. Very simply, I have learned to be grateful for every single second I had with Kim.
“For the privilege it was to have been her mum, watching her form bonds with her dad, sister and brother, to have learnt so much from her, the places we went together, the holidays, the pets, her friends, the partner in her life.
“Time is the most precious gift we have. I try to urge people to look on the positive side if they can find it within themselves. What brings me most comfort and keeps me going, is that one day I will get the chance to hug my daughter again, and I want her to be proud of what I have achieved in her absence.”
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