I have been present for many after-death bathing’s over the years. Some were quiet. Some were filled with tears. Some, surprisingly, were filled with laughter as families shared stories and memories while caring for someone they love. Every one of them taught me the same thing…caring for someone's body after they die isn't really about the body, it is about love. For thousands of years, across nearly every culture and faith, families have gently washed the bodies of those t

When I was about eighteen years old, I worked in a store in the small town where I grew up. One of my coworkers was a young boy, a weekend shelf stocker; he was kind, funny, and easy to talk to. Even though he was younger than I was, we became friends. One afternoon I was driving through town when he flagged me down. "Hey, Gabby... do you have a minute?” I was in a hurry, and I do remember seeing the urgency in his face, but I was focused on where I was going. I told him I

Working in pediatric palliative care has opened my eyes to the siblings. The brothers and sisters who are watching someone they love navigate a life-limiting illness while life around them changes in ways they may not fully understand. They are not intentionally overlooked, but when one child requires more care, attention, time, and energy, the sibling can quietly become the one who is expected to be “okay.” And I find myself thinking about what they must be grieving besides

Working in end-of-life care has changed the way I see almost everything. It has taught me to slow down, to notice what matters, and to hold each day with a little more gratitude. But perhaps the greatest gift has been something I never expected. It has taught me that some of the most meaningful moments in our lives are also the most uncomfortable. The conversations where we speak up. The moments where we choose to really listen. The apologies we finally offer. The forgiveness

The first time I lost my sister, she didn't die. She was just gone. When I was little, before my dad kicked her out of our house, I used to sneak into her bedroom whenever she wasn't home. It was my favorite place. No one else would have ever understood why. No one needs to. Her room was always a mess. The bed was never made. Clothes covered the floor. Drawers were left halfway open with things spilling out. Half-burned candles sat on dressers layered with dust so thick

Do not mistake my age for my ending, I am not fading, I am not shrinking, I am not quietly stepping aside so the world can pretend I was never here. No, sweetheart... I am just getting started. I have lived through things that tried to soften my voice, dim my light, bend my back, break my spirit. And yet, here I am... Still standing, Still laughing, Still learning, Still choosing, Still becoming, Fifty did not make me invisible, It made me clearer. Sixty will not make me less

I no longer write from wounds. I write from scars. There is a difference. Wounds ask questions. Scars carry wisdom. Wounds reach for answers. Scars have learned that not every question was meant to be solved. Some were simply meant to change us. My scars do not ask for sympathy. They do not need to be explained. They are quiet reminders of every life that touched mine, every goodbye, every heartbreak, every moment that asked me to become someone I had never been b

There are moments in life that will forever change the way you enter another person's space. I want to share one of mine with you. Several months ago, I had the privilege of being asked to start supporting a woman as she prepared for the end of her life. During one of our conversations, I shared that I had begun studying sound healing. She asked if I would bring my singing bowls the next time I visited. What began as practice soon became something neither of us expected. As t

Sometimes, in my classes, I encourage people to write letters. Letters to be opened after they die. Letters that tell the people they love one last time just how much they mattered. Sometimes I suggest writing a letter before death instead. A letter that offers forgiveness. A letter that heals an old wound. Or maybe simply a letter that says, “I was thinking about you.” But before anyone ever puts pen to paper, I often ask one question. Why are you writing it? It seems like s

You only get one chance to be yourself. One life. One voice. One brief turn on this earth. And yet so many of us spend years becoming who other people need us to be. The agreeable version. The quiet version. The version that asks for less. Needs less. Stays small. Keeps the peace. We learn to read the room. To soften our opinions. To change our shape. To become whoever is needed in that moment. A different version for work. Another for family. Another for friends. Another for

When I was a little girl, I remember watching everyone get dressed up and gather at our house. I asked where they were going. “To your grandmother’s funeral,” someone answered. I didn’t even know she had died. At the time, I remember feeling sad, but not fully understanding why. Children often accept what they are told because they trust the adults around them. It wasn’t until years later that I began asking myself… Why didn’t anyone tell me she was sick? Why didn’t I get to

I recently came across a phrase that stopped me in my tracks: The puzzle won't piece. I believe that the phrase is commonly used to describe a relationship that no longer fits. No matter how much you try to make it work, the pieces simply don't belong together anymore. I've been there... I can relate! But when I heard it this time, I thought about grief. Because if there is ever a time when the puzzle won't piece, it is after someone we love dies. At first, we often believe t

I recently sat beside my 325th patient who chose to exercise their legal right to ingest the Medical Aid in Dying (MAID) medications. No matter how many times I bear witness to the end of a human life, it remains an honor. While I understand there are many people who do not support MAID, and I respect that, it is something I do support because I have seen the suffering that often comes long before the decision itself. No one arrives at this choice lightly. It usually comes af

It’s one of the most common questions caregivers carry, and one of the heaviest. It usually comes after a decision that didn’t feel like a choice at all. Moving someone out of the home. Starting hospice. Saying yes to more care. Saying no to something you thought you would always say yes to. And then the quiet comes… and with it, the question. Did I do the right thing? Here’s what I gently offer to those sitting in that space: Ask yourself… Was your person safe? Were you abl

There is a place where love does not end when a life does. It is my memory... They continue to live on in the names I still say, in the stories I tell, and in the quiet moments that find their way back to me. It is as if my memories are colorful hearts hanging from trees beautiful moments left for all to see. Each memory tied gently, like something sacred… colorful, alive, moving with the wind the same way they are still moving within me. I will not stop saying their name. I

Working in end-of-life care has taught me a lot about life, about how we live it, and what we carry with us. What I see most often at the end isn’t fear, it is regret. Time spent holding onto anger, the weight of guilt, and the ache of unresolved hurt. And in those final moments, so many people are simply trying to let it go. I understand that, because I have carried a lot too. A lifetime of experiences, disappointments, and a version of myself shaped by how I thought others

I wrote this after sitting with a woman who was carrying so much... so many thoughts, feelings, and pieces of her life that felt like they were holding her back from letting go. In that quiet space, I told her she didn’t have to take it with her, she could give it to me, and I would hold it for her. And she did. In releasing it, she found peace… and soon after, she let go, taking her final breath with a sense of ease I could feel in the room. But then I found myself holding w

I am learning that sometimes... your story, your past, and even your disappointments can be used to help support others, to help them feel held, seen, and less alone. Maybe this isn't just my story, maybe it is yours too... (((hug))) Her Story By Gabby Jimenez For a long time, she carried the weight of her past quietly. The disappointments, the difficult moments, the relationships that didn’t last… all of it held close, tucked deep inside. She thought that if anyone saw it, r

The words “death with dignity” can have a different meaning for each person who uses them. They are often connected to Medical Aid in Dying (MAID), or End of Life Option Act where I am from in California. Sometimes this gets confused with words like euthanasia or suicide, and those words carry weight, judgment, fear, and even discomfort for those who hear them, as well as for those who say them. And I struggle with that, because that is not what this is about. At least not fo

I never imagined this would be the work my life would lead me to. It wasn’t something I planned for, or reached toward, or even understood from a distance. And yet… I find myself here. When I look back now, it feels like I have been walking through a life lined with doors… ones I thought were closed, ones I turned away from, ones I didn’t know how to walk through at the time. I think pain has a way of narrowing our view, convincing us that what we see in front of us is all th