Death, Dying and Letting Go

Author: Gillian Maddigan

June 2026

Death has come to knock for a one of my oldest friends and he embraced the timeline with a living wake tour. Getting together with friends and family with a 6 city tour of connection and remembrance. 

In spending the time with him it made me remember the deaths of my past and I found this piece I wrote when my father-law-passed. 

The passing of my father-in-law in such a short space of time gave me pause. At the time it made me reflect on how each of us copes with one of the biggest events of our lives, and yet how little attention we give it until it is suddenly upon us.

The way we engage with death and passing was brought home to me a few years ago when I attended more than eleven funerals in a twelve-month period. The people came from many walks of life, friends, family, colleagues and clients, and they passed in a variety of ways. Some succumbed to the excesses of their youth. Some suppressed so much of themselves that they ultimately took their own lives. Some experienced years of self-neglect. One was murdered. One passed with grace, simply reaching a point where it was time to go, sparing the family prolonged suffering and uncertainty.

Each funeral became an opportunity for me to release some of the suppressed sadness, anger, numbness and grief surrounding my husband’s passing fifteen years earlier. Every service allowed me to let go a little more. For me, it became a cathartic experience.

What struck me most was how different each funeral was.

Many were framed as celebrations of life. I found these surprisingly difficult at times. They often seemed to leave little room for sadness, tears or grief. One friend had celebrated his fortieth birthday only months before his passing. We were still in shock. Our memories were still filled with his laughter, his humour and his larrikin antics. A celebration felt premature when many of us were still struggling to comprehend that he was gone.

Other funerals carried the solemnity of ritual and ceremony. They provided a structure that allowed people to seek solace within the process itself. Some services, however, only presented one side of the person.

One funeral in particular left a lasting impression on me.

A group of us attended the funeral of a friend from a sewing group. As we listened, we realised they were describing someone we recognised, yet somehow they seemed to know nothing about the warm, generous, vulnerable and gentle woman we had come to know. They spoke of her strength and leadership, her commitment to family and community, and all of that was true. Yet with us she had also been soft, self-deprecating and willing to let others lead.

We were shocked that this side of her was never mentioned. Looking back, I understand that her family were wrapped in the arms of their own grief and were already feeling lost without her leadership. There was no opportunity for us to step forward and share our experience of her. It was a powerful reminder that each person exists in many different relationships, and no single story can fully capture who they were.

That experience sparked many conversations about dying and death between my Age Mentor and me.

She was a woman of considerable life experience, somewhere around seventy-nine at the time. She lived life on her own terms. We bantered often. I taught her that it was perfectly acceptable to swear occasionally, and she reminded me just how fortunate I was to have choices available to me.

One topic we returned to repeatedly was death.

What kind of passing would she like? What kind of funeral did she want?

“None,” she would say firmly.

She was adamant.

We would tease her, reminding her that the funeral was not really for her, it was for those left behind. She remained unmoved. If we ignored her wishes, she warned us, she would come back and haunt us.

Over the years we discussed her death in remarkable detail. We spoke about it for at least five years. She knew she would eventually enter palliative care. She knew how she wanted to be cared for. She knew exactly how she wanted to leave this world.

One particular instruction always made me smile. She insisted that no one would ever see her without her teeth in, not even the nurses.

When her time came, a few of us spent many hours with her, sorting through collections accumulated over a lifetime, listening to the stories attached to them and discussing her feelings, fears and experiences. Every affair was in order. Every document was signed. Every instruction had been given.

And then she did exactly as she had planned.

There was one brief moment of hesitation. Then, once all her family had arrived and everyone had settled, she relaxed. She waited until those she loved were comfortable, and then she simply let go.

May I have her grace when my time comes.

Two years ago, I travelled home for a school reunion and saw my stepfather for the first time in at least four years. He was shuffling when he walked, and something about it struck me as unusual.

Three weeks later he was diagnosed with cancer in multiple locations.

Unlike my Age Mentor, he did not want to go. He fought for every moment of life.

I made the decision to visit him, to say goodbye and make peace with him. Our relationship had not always been comfortable in the early years, but I knew I needed to complete that chapter for myself.

One of the lessons I had learned from my Age Mentor was how important it can be for those who remain behind to allow the dying person permission to leave.

Sometimes people hold on because they believe we need them to. Sometimes they fear that we cannot cope without them. Sometimes they endure pain and fear simply because they cannot bear to leave us.

I witnessed this with my husband.

He was only twenty-four years old when he died. He spent six weeks in a coma and never regained consciousness.

His parents were devastated. Their only son was dying. Their grief and shock were almost unbearable to witness. I, meanwhile, was largely numb, distracted by the needs of our two-and-a-half-year-old daughter and how I was going to cope without him. 

Eventually his parents made the decision to let him go. They arranged for a priest to perform the last rites.

My husband waited until I returned to his bedside.

Within minutes of my arrival, he passed.

It was as though he had simply been waiting for all of us to be ready.

Watching families and friends navigate death can be incredibly insightful. I can often see the difference between those who have some awareness of the dying process and those encountering it for the first time. 

Those who have had conversations about death are often better equipped to support others. They can hold space for those who are learning, grieving and struggling to understand.

Which brings me back to my father-in-law.

He was a stalwart of his family, the lynchpin of strength and fortitude. Like my stepfather, he may have ignored or not recognised the health issues developing around him, attributing them simply to old age.

When death arrives unexpectedly, it leaves little time for preparation. There never seems to be enough time to say everything that needs to be said or do everything that was left for another day.

This is why I believe it is so important to have conversations before they become urgent.

Discuss how you want things handled.

How you want to die.

Talk about organ donation.

Talk about Do Not Resuscitate directives.

Talk about health directives and living wills.

Discuss the practical realities and the emotional needs of family members.

Talk about funerals, ceremonies, celebrations and what matters most to you.

Give away things and watch people use or appreciate what’s given while you are alive. 

Reduce the load for those left behind cleaning up. 

These are conversations that can take place long before the emotional journey begins. When difficult decisions have already been made, families can spend more time being present with one another and less time negotiating under pressure, grief and uncertainty.

Death is one of the few certainties we all share, yet many of us avoid talking about it until choices become ultimatums and emotions overwhelm reason.

Have open discussions about dying and death.

Give honest living eulogies and be heard before they go.

Plan early.

Give your loved ones clarity.

And perhaps, in doing so, make an already difficult journey a little gentler for everyone involved.

Having a blessed journey.