If You Knew How It Ends, Would You Live Differently? What the Dying Taught Me About Living​

During my days as a bedside registered nurse, there was no other area that had as much of an impact on me as hospice. It may seem obvious why; I was dealing with dying humans daily. And as sad as that is, and as emotionally draining it can be on any given day, the impact on me was mostly positive and changed the way I approached everything. I’ve spoken about this being a pivotal point in my life, as it led me toward my current holistic health practice, but I never really talked about it this way: how it shaped how I want to live the next chapter of my life. ​

A few days before sitting down to write this, I got a call from a good friend. She had lost someone in her family to alcoholism, and we got to talking about how when people know they are doing something to their body (and life)  that is causing them such great harm and ill health, even killing them, that they will keep doing it despite the “knowing”. What does it take for someone to change and turn things around for themselves and reach for their highest potential and live with purpose while on this earth?

During my years as a bedside nurse, and even as a young nurse’s assistant before that, death was not unfamiliar to me; it was the experiences in different areas that I worked that made the experience different. No area shaped me the way working in hospice did. Sure, it was sad, but I witnessed life lessons, stories, and sometimes beautiful moments that I was honored to be part of. One story that I never heard was that they wished they'd worked harder, achieved more, or bought x, y, z. The story I heard was some version of: ​

“I wish I took more vacations”

“I wish I had taken better care of myself”

“I wish I had told them when I had a chance”

“I wish I didn’t sweat the small stuff”

“I wish I hadn’t missed my calling and followed my heart’s path”

“I wish I hadn’t been afraid and just did the thing, no matter what other people would think”​

Like my friend’s family member, I believe most people know what they are doing to themselves and, on some level, know they need to make a change. I also believe that knowing isn’t the missing piece. We have more information at our fingertips than any generation before, so lack of information isn’t the problem. Turning the awareness and knowing into doing is the missing piece and the most challenging one. ​

The numbness I didn’t know I was carrying.​

Before working in hospice, I was an  ICU nurse for many years. When people died in the ICU, after a while, there was an element of detachment. Not because you didn’t care, but because that coping mechanism was the culture. Nine times out of ten, we were trying to save those who were close to death, and this looked much more clinical, and even sometimes traumatic. Code after code, and day after day, there’s a sense of numbness that sets in because the work leaves little space for anything else. Don’t feel; move on to the next room. That’s how you got through the shift, and that’s how I began functioning outside of my work. ​

I hadn’t realized how much that numbness had settled in until years later, so I too became unaware that my work and lifestyle were making me ill, both physically and mentally.  Numbness led to not being able to cry. Detachment, anxiety, depression, insomnia- they all showed up for me, but I crashed before I took action.

If you had asked me at the time, I would have said, “I’m fine.” I couldn’t express what was actually happening. I was a healthcare professional who could assess others and match the physiology to their stress and burnout, but I didn’t readily see it in myself. If I couldn’t see it in myself, how can one without my training see it in themselves?​

The Shift I Didn’t See Coming​

It wasn't until I left the ICU that I really understood what I was carrying during that time. It was full-on burnout, and I needed something different. I never regretted my time in critical care; in fact, I learned more than I could have imagined, but my passion for my work was gone. I was told by a dear friend that I would make a great hospice nurse, so there I went; caring for people at the end of life and hanging on to my own, with what seemed like a thread.

I need to talk about the people who work in hospice for a moment. They are unlike any other group of people that I have worked with, or have even been a part of. First of all, they hug—a lot. My mentor, Michelle, greeted me with a hug my first day and said, “You’re not much of a hugger, are you? You will be.” She was right, but I quickly learned that a hand held at the right moment, or a hug with a family member while they watched their loved one slip away, was worth more than you could offer in that moment. And the staff needed it too. We had a tacit understanding, and we knew when one of us needed that embrace, or that moment of reset after a heavy day. My hope for humanity was restored working with this compassionate group of people. ​

Death; it changes a person. Again, I was no stranger to being around it, but this was different. I even began noticing the beauty in it. I became a part of people’s story, and it was an honor to bear witness to some of the most precious and vulnerable experiences in other humans’ stories.​

Death is part of one’s story. Some deaths are peaceful. Some are not. The hardest ones are those that are young, and especially those that could have been prevented. I’ve witnessed illness and unfortunate traumas in both the young and the old.

We will all hold this chapter in our own story: the chapter of dying. That’s the thing about death: we all share this experience, no matter who you are. There is no discrimination. No matter your socioeconomic status, gender, race, sexual orientation, whether you’re a criminal, hero, parent, older adult, or child, we ALL will experience death, AND we have no idea when! It can be today. It can be 50 years from now, but it will inevitably happen. So obviously, my question- the title of this article, “If you knew how it ended, would you live differently?” is completely hypothetical, but it's worth exploring.​

What It Actually Takes

So what does it take for someone actually to change?

I don’t have that answer for you; I wish I did, but I don't think anyone has. Not your doctor or your therapists. Not even myself or someone like me who has sat with more endings than most people can imagine. But one thing I noticed and learned through these experiences is that the people who seemed most at peace at their ending chapter weren’t those who had checked all the boxes. It was the ones who were honest with themselves at some point and tapped into what mattered most to them. They were able to get honest about the relationships they'd let go stale, answering their calling, or not putting off becoming the version of themselves they kept promising to become "someday." Their peace didn't come from a perfect life; it came from an honest one.

Even when habits and experiences aren’t serving us, we stay. It's like a bad relationship; we know that it might be dysfunctional, or maybe even dangerous. Still, people stay there because they feel loved. They feel like they belong. They may even feel safe in an unsafe situation because anywhere else is unfamiliar, and that brings fear and danger. In our minds, we choose the familiar, which, to us, is safe. Habits are no different. It's safe and comfortable, and change is hard, uncomfortable, and unsafe.

By the end of this article, I decided to reframe my original question from “would you live differently?” to: what's it going to take for you to live differently?” Not for people who won’t even remember you when you're gone, but for yourself. And if showing up for yourself isn’t enough (because many of us are better at showing up for others), then is it for the people that truly matter to you? If that has to be your reason, let that be your why. But what will it take?

And coming back to my friend and her family member who died, and anyone else who is aware that there will be consequences if they don't make some changes. Again, on some level, they know. I knew deep down. He knew. But turning the knowing into doing requires a reason big enough and real enough to push you past the comfort of the familiar.

So if you knew how it ends, and we all do, we don’t know when or how. But if you did, would you live differently? When I sat with the dying, they talked about the people they loved, the moments they regretted missing, the things they wished they'd enjoyed more, and the fears they wished didn’t hold them back.

You don't need a terminal diagnosis or a deathbed to lie in to start paying attention and making, but we sure do need to stop waiting for one.