When it isn't a beautiful death...

We all wish for a “beautiful” death, for ourselves and for the people we love. And thankfully, many times, it happens, or at least it comes close. I feel fortunate to have witnessed countless deaths that were peaceful, quiet, and even beautiful. But I have also been present for the ones that weren’t, the ones filled with struggle, distress, and sounds that echo in your mind long after the room has fallen silent.

Death and the dying process are as individual as fingerprints. No two are the same, and I think we need to talk about that more honestly. Describing death as beautiful or peaceful can unintentionally mislead or isolate those whose experiences looked very different.

As hospice clinicians, we often explain that certain changes such as skin color, breathing patterns, movements, sounds, even moments of restlessness, can be a normal part of dying. But let’s be honest: while these things may be clinically normal, they are not emotionally normal for the people witnessing them. There is nothing “usual” about watching someone you love leave this world.

I do my best to ease the struggle for both the dying and those keeping vigil beside them. Still, I am not always successful. I have had to learn that it isn’t because I have failed, it’s because sometimes, the body follows its own path, and what it goes through is beyond our control, no matter how gently we try to guide it.

Some deaths are hard to witness. I have learned to be more mindful of that, the quiet trauma that can live inside those memories. Watching someone you love suffer creates a different kind of pain, one that needs acknowledgment and tenderness long after last breaths.

I have often wondered what makes a death “beautiful.” Perhaps it’s when someone has lived a full life and is ready, or when they pass without struggle, surrounded by love. Maybe it’s when the suffering has finally ended, and peace, however brief, fills the room.

There are many interpretations. I once read that “a beautiful death is a death that allows for a celebration of a life well-lived and a sense of peace.” I think that’s true, but I have also learned that beauty in death isn’t always found in how it looks. Sometimes it’s in the love that fills the room, in the hands held tightly together, in the whispered goodbyes, or in the sheer courage it takes to stay present when things are hard to watch.

As someone who walks alongside the dying, I have come to accept that it’s not my place to decide whether a death was beautiful or not. That belongs to those who had to say goodbye. My role is to prepare them for whatever may come, to hold space for both possibilities. And if the end is peaceful, that is a blessing. If it isn’t, at least they were not unprepared, and perhaps it will feel a little less shocking.

Death is my teacher, and I am an attentive listener.

xo

Gabby