Being present with death taught me to how to LIVE

My grandad and daughter died within the space of 10 months. How being present with them dying taught me more about living life well than I had learnt in the rest of my lifetime

May 15, 2025

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After three decades mostly spent avoiding the topic of death. Death and grief eventually found me - with the death of my Grandad and daughter in the space of 10 months.

Death is a fundamental part of our wholeness. A universal experience that, along with grief, we cannot avoid. Yet is still so unspoken and avoided in conversation. Doing us such harm.

By facing into death, I’ve realised that my death avoidance was holding me back from so much LIVING. So I’m here to speak my truth and share my story in a vulnerable way that would have made my past self disappear like roadrunner. So here I go in my first ever Substack, taking a moment’s pause before my words flow on. With a deep heart centred breath in honour of my beloved departeds whose stories I will be sharing today. Please feel free to join me in placing your hand to heart for a breath or two in honour of anyone you are grieving if you wish before we begin.

Lessons from my dying Grandad

My curiosity in death and grief was sparked when I accompanied my Grandad in his final year as he was dying from dementia. Seeing the power of meeting him exactly where he was, including across his last few months as it became hard to witness him stopping eating and disappearing in body before my eyes. I realised that even in the most painful moments, if I could be present with all of him - that alongside the pain and suffering, there were simple joys and precious memories to be made.

I remember one trip to see him at his care home where he had been doubled over in pain. My fear told me, RUN and cut this trip as short as possible and leave him in the capable hands of the nurses. But my heart said, WAIT… stay and just be. What followed was 3 hours of just sitting with him mostly in silence. Holding his hand, gazing at the beautiful oak outside his window in full summer bloom and watching him for subtle cues of what he needed.

When it was time to say goodbye. I can still hear my Grandad’s voice, as we called, “I love you” joyfully to each other as I walked down the long white corridor towards the exit until we couldn’t hear each other. I realised then; by being with his pain and not running away, joy, meaning and love was also present.

I learnt that my presence was enough. Every week when I visited, setting an intention of presence at a little river outside his care home. Having the honour of walking him as far home as he wished me to. Until his final week when I slept on a tiny chair next to his bed as I held his hand. His death teaching me the beauty of life that we can see more clearly when we allow ourselves to sit with the discomfort of pain.

A promise of presence to my daughter

A few months after Grandad died, we were blessed with our darling daughter Ngākau Raiona (meaning Lioness Heart in my husband’s Māori language). After a pregnancy that seemed to be flowing beautifully; 21 weeks into pregnancy we received the devastating diagnosis of a birth defect that meant she could not survive outside of the womb.

Sat in the car home after the scan that broke my heart open. I grappled with my grief and how I could ever make it through the experience of a TFMR (termination for medical reasons) and her stillbirth alive. But then I feel her kicking. As we entered into what would be our final 48 hours of life together, I realised that she is alive and kicking now. Feel her life force roaring inside me. In my pain, I have never felt more alive too.

Jolted back into reality by her kicks, I felt the message clearly. I had walked the most joyful pregnancy journey with her so far. So we would journey together to her death and stillbirth in continued joy, love and celebration of her until the very end - and beyond. No matter the pain that I knew I would need to go through. Quietening a mind that wanted to run away.

I stroked my belly and whispered this promise, “I’m here with you baby. I’m not going to leave you, no matter what. I love you.”

The promise was made. Here I shall stay with you, in this most excruciating present moment. Until your death, birth and beyond. I will not leave your side. My gift of presence to her ended up being one of her greatest gifts to me. Through her death, stillbirth and woodland burial, I have never been more present in my entire life than I was in those 4 weeks.

I discovered that being present with death and grief did not make my heartbreak worse. Instead, it revealed the truth of the depth of feelings and love that I can hold. The beauty in the impermanence of everything, including the roaring contractions of birth and grief. Plus how joy and heartbreak can co-exist.

To me, grief feels like a tattoo. Because I have accepted this grief and pain for my daughter as lifelong. In a weird way, I grew quickly to love it. Not because of what happened, but because of who happened. Our precious first child and daughter. A tattoo over my heart of my undying love for our little lioness. A beacon that I feel humming everyday. In sadness, love, pride and joy.

Life affirming lessons of death

I believe that death is the greatest teacher of how to live our life well. A lightening bolt reminder of the impermanence of everything in this life. At some point we all must say goodbye to each other. There will be no “forevers” for us together in our physical bodies.

To some, an uncomfortable truth. But as I prepared to say goodbye to our darling daughter, I realised that none of us know when we will take our last breath. When we live this life understanding that we are mortals, then see there really is no better time than now to prioritise those and that which matters the most.

Compassionate note

There is no right or wrong way of moving through any kind of loss. Only interwoven threads of grief and love that connect us all.

This Substack reflects my personal experience as a bereaved mother. I write these words with an invitation to you to navigate your path in your way - and to meet yourself exactly where you are in love and compassion.

Wherever you are in this journey, as a fellow griever - I am sending you so much love.