Life happens, and death happens… It’s what we do with the in-between that counts.

When I was a little girl, I heard a motorcycle crash outside our house and ran out to see what had happened. A young man was lying on the ground, bleeding and unresponsive. Something inside me knew what to do, not medically, but compassionately. I held his head in my lap and let him know he was not alone.

I had forgotten this moment entirely until years later, while writing my second book, “The Hospice Heart.” As I traced my life backward, I realized I had been practicing this work long before I had a name for it, providing comfort and presence to those who are dying.

When I was about eighteen, I went to The Headlands in Mendocino, a place I often went when I needed to think, scream, or let life spill out of me. I stood alone, staring at the ocean, when I heard a voice say, “Don’t do it.” A local homeless man named Big Al was sitting below me, out of sight. He thought I was going to jump, and he immediately climbed up to be with me. The first thing he said was, “You have important things to do. Your life is only just starting. If you end it now, you will miss out on so much.”

I explained why I was there, that I was struggling, but not planning to end my life. Still, I tucked his words away. Over the years, they have returned to me in my lowest moments, urging me to keep going.

In my early fifties, I walked The Camino in Spain, mostly alone. One day I reached a fork in the road and wasn’t sure which way to go. A man stood there wearing a suit jacket and a fancy hat, strange attire for the Camino. After giving me directions, he said, “You are someone who cradles the heads of those who are dying.”

I told him I was a hospice nurse.

“I know,” he replied.

I turned to see who was approaching behind me, and when I looked back, he was gone. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had ever been there at all. My thoughts drifted back to the young man whose head I had cradled so many years earlier. Were they somehow the same?

So many magical things happened on that walk. One day I came upon a fence with a large cow standing on the other side. He kept nodding his head to the left, as if insisting I look. When I did, I saw a white horse standing among the trees, one of the most beautiful things I have ever witnessed. I asked every person I met that day if they had seen the white horse.

No one else had.

When I returned from the Camino, I felt changed, rooted in a deeper sense of purpose. It felt clear that I had been walking this path my entire life, one that led me here: cradling the heads of those who are dying and holding the hands of those preparing to say goodbye.

This work has taught me how to slow down and truly savor life. Each person I accompany at the end reminds me that my life will end too. I am not immune to death. I think about my own mortality often.

Life happens. Death happens.

It’s what we do with the in-between that matters.

I believe I am doing important things, just as Big Al said. And I still have more to do. I refuse to waste a single moment of my in-between.

And one day, when it is my turn to have my head cradled, I will go knowing I lived fully. That I loved fiercely. That I played often. That I found my purpose.

And I will look up and whisper to Big Al,

“I didn’t miss out on anything.”

xo

Gabby

You can find my second book, The Hospice Heart, here:

https://www.amazon.com/Hospice-Heart-journey-didnt-have/dp/1706818599/ref=pd_aw_sim_m_sccl_2_7/130-2232800-4346236?