It Takes All Of Us.

At the Ballarat Dying to Know Day 2019 Event Jodie and Tamara will share the way the Downey family, with help from close friends, honoured the lives of John and Marg at funerals 30 years apart.
What the family would most like to share is how planning and running a send-off for someone you love with minimal involvement from the mainstream funeral industry is a truly meaningful achievement. The presentation will also describe how the impact on all who attended and participated in both funerals was healing and profound.

Sharing oysters at Dad's burial, December 1988

Sharing oysters at Dad's burial, December 1988

Participants will have the opportunity to join in facilitated conversations about before, during and after a funeral so that they can share their ideas and experiences with others attending the event.

The experience of being part of Dying to Know Day 2019 is both life affirming and very challenging.  Our motivation for holding an event this year stems from feedback from those who attended and participated in Mum’s funeral in January, comments like:

“It wasn’t like any other funeral”; 

 “It was so personal, so unique and so much your mum”;

“I didn’t know you could run a funeral yourself”

Comments such as these made us feel we could share the story of how running Mum and Dad’s funerals ourselves has helped our family and friends with their grief.  We also thought that sharing our story may assist others to plan and organise a DIY funeral, if they have that inclination. At the same time, the process of preparing our Dying to Know Day 2019 event has brought into relief the pain of our loss which at times has felt somewhat overwhelming.  

Preparing the hall for Mum's service, January 2019

Preparing the hall for Mum's service, January 2019

We feel privileged to share our experience, both as sisters grieving for our mum this year, but also to provide a local opportunity for rich and meaningful conversations with other people about death and dying.  We are blessed to be supported by close networks of friends and colleagues who have grief and bereavement expertise. These people, who will help facilitate table discussions on the day, are working as a team with us to prepare our 8th August presentation.  The advice of these very wise practitioners has helped enormously:  “Allow the tears, honour the emotion, give people who will be in the room the chance to see that it’s ok to grieve”.  

It has been our experience that conversations about dying, caring and/or grieving are often limited or cut short because people get worried that such conversations are too hard to have.  The It Takes All of Us theme is so relevant to us in 2019 as we are finding the strength to create a more caring community that can give grief the space to be and allow healing.

Story by Jodie and Tamara Downey

Collecting Beautiful Moments - Shaela Mauger

Shaela with her Dad and grandparents.

Shaela with her Dad and grandparents.

10,950 days without you.

The 15th of January this year marked 30 years since my Dad died.

In the thirty years that have passed I have started Kindergarten, finished primary school, completed my high school certificate, travelled solo overseas, worked in numerous different jobs, completed a bachelors degree, bought houses, sold houses, got engaged, got married, had two beautiful children and self published three books.

How many days during those last thirty years have I thought or wondered about my Dad – the whole 10,950 of them.

It’s funny the saying ‘time heals everything’. I definitely think you learn to live with grief but it is always there, sometimes in the distance or sometimes knocking at the door wanting to remind you of the beautiful person you have lost. But I believe with grief comes compassion. When you know what it feels to lose someone dear to you, you have a deep understanding of loss and a yearning to help and comfort others.

I’m not sure if I was just too young to really remember or maybe my mind is trying to protect me but the sad thing is I don’t really have any memories or times etched in my mind with my Dad. I 100% know he was a beautiful man who was respected by so many but I often wish I could listen to a song, smell a certain scent or look at a particular movie and be reminded of him or a moment of time with him. I love hearing stories from his friends and family of the mischief and good times he had but it would be so nice to have a memory that is mine alone.

Shaela and her Dad.

Shaela and her Dad.

My eldest daughter is so cute and sometimes asks me ‘what did you like best about Poppy Martin?’ – I try to answer the best I can with what I know but deep down inside I wish I could retell stories of funny things we had done together or places we had been but many of my stories are ones I retell from others.

The good part (if you could say that) of not remembering is I don’t remember the months he spent sick, the hospital visits and the heartache that surrounded his passing. (I do remember though on the night he was to leave the earth my Aunty massaging the ‘growing pains’ in my legs so that I might get some sleep)

It’s funny over the last thirty years I have not really come across many other people who have lost a parent at a young age. I am sure there is sadly plenty of people out there but it is something not often talked about. When people talk about their parents I don’t often question if there is both a Mum and a Dad or if one is missing why that is because there is so many reasons that could be.

I may have a large hole in my heart that yearns for my Dad but I have a really good life. My Mum did such an amazing job bringing me up, I have a beautiful sister and an awesome family.

There is no denying though that losing a parent at a young age (or any age) changes you, maybe in some ways it has made me a better person as I feel a deep connection with other that have suffered loss. I treasure each and every person in my family and feel so lucky to have them on this journey with me.

It has though, made me fear death. One of my greatest fears is myself or husband dying and leaving my children without a parent, Why? Because when you lose a parent a small part of you goes with them.

It may or may not be true depending what you believe – but I do think my beautiful Dad is watching over me and my family and providing us strength and wisdom when we need it. If someone I love dies, I also find comfort in knowing that maybe somewhere up there Dad will welcome them with open arms and a cold beer.

I have never really opened up much to anyone about my Dad but writing things down provides me so much comfort and if reading this can help someone else feel not alone then it is all worth it.

This beautiful quote was provided to me by Ann-Maree Imrie in memory of her son Xavier for my Remembering Me Book. It resonated with me, and I think it will resonate with anyone that has lost someone close to them and the journey of grief that follows.

“Sure, the intense pain that was present in the beginning has died down to a dull roar. Maybe even a quiet hum. But it’s a quiet hum that never goes away. Even in the loudest room, on the happiest occasions, surrounded by the people I love…there is the hum. Even on a good day, behind the biggest smile…there is the hum.”

I look back on my Dad’s 37 years on earth in wonder and know that tonight like every other night he is heaven’s brightest star guiding me through life. Cherish the time you have with your loved ones and give your Dad an extra special hug tonight.

 As my Dad wrote:

“Go about your lives and weep no more for me, for really it is I who is the lucky one”.


 ‘Cherish - A Book About Us’ was made in memory of Shaela’s Dad.
”It covers all the things I would have loved to known about him over the last thirty years, so that others can tell their story to their children or grandchildren. On this, his 30th anniversary I would love to sell as many as I can, because your story just like his, is important to tell.”

Big Questions with Imogen Bailey - End of Life Doula

What kind of work do you do and why do you do it?

I am an end of life doula, a birth doula, a women's group facilitator and trainer and an actor. All the work I do is about both purpose and contribution. I made a decision to live my life from my hearts callings, all this work calls me and all my skill sets cross over. 

What is your most memorable experience of this work?

The smiling tears. When you have served another human well.

Do you have any tips on how someone could develop their personal relationship with their mortality/death/dying?

Talk about it with anyone who is willing to have the conversation. The more we normalise the topic the easier it will be to have a healthy relationship with living, part of that relationship is facing our own death.

What are you Dying to Know?

What you really want for your personal end of life experience. How can myself and others who work in this area better serve you.

If you could re-write/redesign/redevelop an aspect of the Australian way of death what would it be?

Make it more community based and person care orientated. Caring for our dying and coming together to do so could be a way of celebrating life and the normalcy of death. Death still feels hidden away in this country. I believe it's a big part of what keeps people in fear of it.

What’s the best funeral you’ve ever been to, and why?

A huge party before the person departed. It was a celebration of a life and all the lives that had come together during her life. I believe this is an incredibly joyful and healing way of doing things.

Assuming you have one, what will your deathbed scene be like?

A celebration. A love nest. A place where I can be with those I love most and we can call in my transition gently. I want lots of singing and hugging and laughter.

What songs will be played at your funeral?

All you need is love

What is your best advice when people remark “I don’t know what to say”?

You don't always have to say something. Just be present. Be there. Be fearless. Come from your heart and the ancient wise person that lives deep within us all. Sometimes I just hold their hands look them in the eye, breathe and say 'what do you want to say. When you don't know what to say it might be because you are being presented with a moment to just listen.

Is writing about death and dying morbid?

It doesn't feel that way to me. I want everyone I know to know they can come to me to talk about this natural part of life. We are all going to die. Running from it can effect how we live deeply, it can cause us to run in fear. I feel called to offer this work my gentleness. I feel like I am somewhere I am supposed to be when I do and write about this work.

What’s your view on death being taboo?

I think that people need the most love in both birth and death. The coming and the going. How they are treated when they enter this world will effect the way they live their lives and how they are treated on the way out will effect the way they pass over. No subject that every human needs to face should ever be taboo. We are in this together. We all need to receive deep and open love when we are going through this inevitable transition. Sometimes I think death being a taboo is an over culture construct that has become part of the economy of death. If we keep it hidden away someone is able to over charge us for something we know very little about.

Imogen Bailey is an Ambassador for Dying to Know Day 2017 and will be MC at the Dying to Know Day event at Federation Square, Melbourne.
To learn more about her work as an End of Life Doula, visit:

'A Tapestry of Rich and Royal Hues' - My Life as an Undertaker by Annette Lourigan

Photo by  Joaquim Salat  on  Unsplash

Photo by Joaquim Salat on Unsplash

I have been involved in the funeral sector since October 1997. My roles have included community engagement to promoting cardboard coffins. However it is my role as Undertaker/Funeral Director that keeps me putting on my uniform. There is something truly humbling and beautiful when a stranger allows you into their world, when they trust you with the ritual of a loved ones memory and physical being.

In almost 20 years of serving families I still don't know the magic words. What I do know is sometimes we need to be present and let the person who is grieving speak, sometimes they just need to be heard. I also believe that a cup of tea, warm hand on a shoulder and an act of kindness can say exactly what we mean to say better than words ever can.

When I first started I had a man say to me "Annette, you are a Christian, how do you cope with all the people who are going to hell?". I haven't spoke to that idiot since. Society creates taboos around death and by doing so we have diminished the gift of life. I hope that by the time each of us take our final breath that together we will have returned a loving, sacred and caring death culture back to Australia.

There are so many memorable moments in my work... Some days are filled with the weight of tragedy as people try to navigate the abyss and chaos of an unexpected, horrific death. Other days make your heart smile as you place 80 year old love letters into the hands of a woman who is 95 and dressed in her wedding dress. Some days you go home and hug your family for longer as you try to find rhyme and reason in the timing of death. Some days you are captivated by the extraordinary adventures and lives of very ordinary people. Every family that I have served has given me a sacred piece of them to keep.

Annette Lourigan

Annette Lourigan

It was not until I was diagnosed with breast cancer did I truly respect the finite time I have on this Earth to love and laugh. Somewhere in dealing with the reality of death did I find the real beauty of life. Hugs need to have meaning, they should not just be for social graces, friends should be real, not just a tally on our Facebook, my time with my daughter is not endless and every moment with her matters. If you can take the time to watch a dew drop on a leaf, absorb the glint of the sun in it, think about the importance of the dew drop to the leaf and ultimately the plant. Stay with that dew drop till it is no more; that is life a fleeting moment in something bigger than all of us, yet that dew drop had a unique and important place in the big picture. Our life is finite, the legacy that we leave however is not.

If I could go back to the 1940's and stop the moment we took death and dying from homes and family I would. I firmly believe that in doing so we took away the reality of death and created an isolated, homogenised death culture that has taken away our right/rite to truly grieve. I would stand on my soapbox and fight the industrialisation of death practices.

I hope my death bed allows me two weeks of indulgence. The first week will be spent with my friends and family, together they will learn from each other why they matter, what beautiful gifts they have given and we will drink very good bubbles. The second week will be for my Family and closest members of my tribe, this will be the time to talk of love, the realities of life and to cry in amongst the laughter. I do hope that my last breath is taken with my hand being held by my Daughters under my big tree.

Everybody who loves me knows I am to be placed in a shroud made of natural fibre, placed in a shallow depth grave and have a big old gum tree spring from my heart. I did donate my right breast for cancer research, I am comfortable with my brain heading off for a little more study, though I do want to give back to our Earth, she has been mighty generous with me.

My list of funeral songs grows and changes frequently, there could be a whole radio station assigned to it, however the song that has always been there and always will is "Tapestry" by Carol King. My life truly is a tapestry of rich and royal hues, one side shows the colours with clarity, the real side shows the knots, the greys and shadows. I hope I am carried out to Paul Kelly's "Meet me in the middle of the air", it is a stirring rendition of the Twenty Third Psalm, when I hear it I hope that those who have gone before me will be waiting for me.

I hope that I am remember with love, I hope that I will be known for being authentic. I hope that I have informed every Australian that their death ritual belongs to them and that they really do need a Will, Advanced Health Directive and Enduring Power of Attorney. I do know though that my greatest legacy will be my Daughter, Hayley - she is my best work.

Australia's First Coffin Club!

Hi, my name is Lynne and I currently work part-time as a Social Worker with The District Nurses on the North West Coast of Tasmania.  I work voluntarily with Care Beyond Cure – Community Palliative Care Spaces and the Community Coffin Club is their initiative; a first for Australia, following on from Katie at the Kiwi Coffin Club in Rotorua.  I founded Jumave in 2016 and I am also involved with Groundbreakers, a group aiming to put Natural Burial on the map here in Tasmania.

Coffin Club was featured on ABC Tasmania

Coffin Club was featured on ABC Tasmania

I love what I do because the intersection where social justice and human rights meets dying, death and after death care, poses many challenges for those affected while offering a unique opportunity for individuals and communities to work creatively to address needs at a structural and service delivery level.

The Coffin Club, as an example, was established in September 2016 following an information and BBQ session at the Men’s Shed in Ulverstone on Dying 2 Know Day.  With the support of the Lions Club of Ulverstone, Central Coast Council, The Men’s Shed, The District Nurses, William from England, Chuck from Maine, Katie from NZ and most importantly, the people who wanted it in the first place, it has grown and provides an occasion for conversations, education, planning and support while identifying unmet needs.

Here at the Club, individuals or family members/friends can make a coffin for themselves or a loved one.  They simply have to provide the materials and enthusiasim for the task at hand.  A mentor, support and access to the space and equipment are provided free but what happens most importantly, is in the process itself.

I remember with great fondness a gentle giant of a man, terminally ill and determined to have a homemade coffin.  One where nothing was going to get inside other than him! He came several times beforehand with his daughter, first to find out what was needed, then to bring some materials.  His daughter started making the coffin and from quiet tears in the beginning, she grew in confidence and with pride. His son attended one day also prior to returning interstate which added to the richness of their story.  The coffin was unfinished at the time of his death several days later, but we all knew exactly what he wanted, and what he wanted, was achieved with the help of club members and a few of the men from the shed pitching in on that day – lining and all.

Pictures are taken throughout people’s journey as they make their coffin, then compiled into a video as a memento and a reminder that they ‘can do anything’ as our adopted song says.

For anyone keen to start their own Community Coffin Club, identify key resources in your community such as a supportive community or men’s shed that has access to equipment, an individual or two with woodwork skills prepared to be a mentor, a service club for financial support if needed and most importantly gauge the level of interest beforehand. Yes, anyone can make a coffin, but not all people have access to resources and support in order to do it.  That is where as a group, you can make a difference.

It is important that people know their rights and responsibilities in the dying, death and after death care space, are provided with the opportunity for choice across these areas and when needed, given the support to make positive change for themselves and their community.  None of this happens if we don’t talk about it.  So, what are you waiting for?  
Check out the Coffin Club.

The Legacy of Jon Underwood

Jon Underwood was the founder of Death Cafe, a movement that brings people together over tea and cake to talk about death and mortality and the finitude of life.
He pioneered a breaking down of the taboo surrounding death in order to allow people to experience life more fully. 

Jon died suddenly on June 25, 2017 from a brain hemorrhage caused by undiagnosed leukemia. His sudden death has

been a terrible shock for his family, wife and young children but the fact that he dedicated his life to really facing death and living fully in each moment offers some sense of relief for his loved ones.

It also offers something to us. 
The work of the Death Cafe has stretched far and wide across the globe with over 1000 Death Cafes in more than a dozen countries. Jon's dedication to this movement has helped shift the culture around death and dying, promoting openness and empowerment when it comes to death and subsequently, life.

You know you have a certain time left, and then the question is, What is important for me to do in that time? That’s different for everyone, so talking about death, for me at least, is the ultimate prioritization exercise.
— Jon Underwood in a BBC interview in 2014.

The Death Cafe movement will continue to grow with Jon's sister Jools Barksy and mother Sue Barsky Reid taking the reigns and committing to Jon's vision for the movement.

In 2014 a group of Death Cafe hosts from Australia had the privilege of talking with John about Death Cafe as part of the lead up to Dying to Know Day. Our goal was to encourage D2KDay hosts to consider hosting a Death Cafe. He was very generous with his time and we were so grateful for his support in the formative years of #D2KDay. 

A crowdfunding initiative has been set up to assist his wife and children as they find their feet and adjust to life without Jon.

We have been moved and inspired by the work of Jon through the Death Cafe movement and we encourage you to contribute in any way you can.

"We Did That Well." Imelda Gilmore shares her story.

Imelda and Graham Gilmore.

Imelda and Graham Gilmore.

You know, there really aren’t too many certainties in life. We can have ideas about whom we would like as a life partner, what sort of wedding we want, how many children we want, what they will be like, what career path we want to follow, how we want to spend our retirement, etc. The truth is that there is really only one event which is absolutely certain to happen and that’s the ending of our life here on this small blue planet. We know we will die one day.

It makes a great deal of sense to start talking to those we love about our feelings, wishes and values when it comes to our end-of-life journey because it’s quite likely our loved ones will be the people who will be guiding us through this event.

When my beautiful young husband was diagnosed with young onset Alzheimer’s disease, I was aware that this is a terminal illness and that the prognosis for young onset is classically a relatively short period from diagnosis to death. For this reason, even though my husband was in reasonable health at the time, we had the conversation about the sorts of things that we did and didn’t want to happen for either of us in our end-of-life journey, whenever that might happen.

I completed an Advance Care Plan for each of us, where we indicated that we didn’t want invasive or extraordinary treatments which would only prolong life for a short time and which in all likelihood would not contribute to our quality of life. These included intravenous antibiotics (should it be impossible to administer these orally) CPR and tube feeding.

In February 2016, a fall resulted in Graham’s being unable to resume walking; this meant that he was either in bed or in a bean chair for most of his waking hours. At this point he still seemed to be physically “well”, although becoming more frail, so it was time to have a conference with management to set up Graham’s palliative care plan. There were quite a number of areas of his care which needed to be documented, such as skin integrity and fluid consumption. However, with absolutely no indication of how long this palliative stage would be or which organ failure would cause his death, there needed to be the additional questions about what action should be taken in a crisis.

In addition to the no-invasive-treatment instructions, I wanted Graham to be able to die “at home”, so I said I didn’t want him moved to hospital unless there was an emergency situation which could not safely be managed by nursing home staff. I wanted Graham to be in an environment which was familiar; the hospital environment for someone with late stage dementia is a nightmare of noise and light and painful handling or treatment.

The next few months saw Graham resume the ability to walk; however, at the end of August 2016, he again fell and, having broken his kneecap, the resultant confinement to bed was to prove permanent.

On October 19, I received a phone call from a doctor who had been called in out-of-hours to attend to Graham. Her first statement was that she had read his Advance Care Plan; he had contracted asphyxiation pneumonia and she wanted to know whether I wanted her to abide by Graham’s wishes regarding no intravenous antibiotics. Even though the news wasn’t good, I was extremely encouraged that someone had read Graham’s instructions (the first time anyone outside of the nursing home had done this). I told the doctor, yes, that was what Graham wanted and I would honour his wishes. Her comment was that treatment only had an expected 50% success rate anyway; it’s also apparent that the chances of recurrence were very high.

The next few days were very full, with all sorts of emotions filling the room as our family came to be with Graham in this, his final journey. Nursing home staff bent over backwards to care for us all as we surrounded Graham with love and tears and laughter and music. We even had our little 3-month-old granddaughter in the room much of the time – a great delight and a distraction. We constantly monitored Graham’s signs of wellbeing or distress and worked with staff to ensure that whatever comfort and help he could be given was available, even so far as saying “don’t turn him now – he’s seeming to be comfortable and we don’t want to disturb that comfort”.

On different nights, some family members were able to sleep in a downstairs lounge room; I spent alternate nights in the room with Graham, sleeping on the bed beside him. I will never forget the love expressed by a night nurse as she brought a blanket and tucked me in: expressions of love and compassion like this are a healing balm at a time when there is so much emotional pain.

At 3.38am on Wednesday 26 October, just 5 minutes before I arrived back at the nursing home, the beautiful night staff were sponging Graham when they noticed that he simply hadn’t taken that next breath: he had slipped away. My prayer had been that I could be with Graham as he died, but I had asked God that if I couldn’t be there, would He make sure that Graham wasn’t alone – and He did!

I believe I was given a huge gift in that when Graham’s end-of-life journey was completed, I was able to say “we did that well” – and I include in this everyone who had a part to play in those last days.

I can’t put into words how great an emotional healing can begin, if we get the chance to honour our loved one’s wishes as we see them through to the end of their life.

Imelda Gilmore.


For more information on Advance Care Planning, go to

5 things I experienced being a Carer - John Rosenberg

I’m a palliative care researcher … and a son. So when my 85 year old dad was told he would die soon, I walked the tightrope between my professional capacity as a palliative care nurse and as Wim’s youngest son. 

An inpatient in a large, tertiary hospital in a major metropolitan centre in Australia, he was receiving good palliative care in the specialist inpatient unit; however, it was his – and all of our family’s – wish that he return to his home town for his end-of-life care.
The problem? “Home” was a four-hour drive away, and it was suggested he was too sick to travel and could even die in transit. This was discussed at length with my parents and all the family, checking and rechecking that the full implications were clear. But dad was crystal clear about one thing. “For the third time!” he said, “I want to go home, or die trying.”

We got him there.
Dad spent his final days in the 9-bed hospital in his rural home town. And as both the ‘palliative care nurse in the family' and a son, I had the privilege of providing his care during his transfer home and in his last days.  

So often in my work as a community palliative care nurse, I’ve encountered people with ‘a nurse in the family’ or ‘my friend who’s a GP’. This would bring a couple of things – clinical knowledge, and an ability to navigate a monolithic health care system. Other families were fierce and effective advocates for their dying relative. Others still were too distressed, or too tired, or too busy doing care to navigate the system. We were lucky – as a son, and as family, we had the capacity to provide dad’s care. Not that that made it easy. But we did it.

5 things I experienced being a carer:

1.      Someone’s got to have the helicopter view to keep track of everything. This can free up others to attend to the detail.

2.      Handing over parts of our family’s ‘operations’ was invaluable – one to ‘run the house’, another to look after the money, another to coordinate the flow of information, and so on.

3.      To make it happen, we had to be brave. Sometimes we weren’t so much, and other times we really, really were.

4.      It’s really tiring.

5.      Being a family carer is not about being one thing. Even being in the business of palliative care, I’m still my father’s son.


Dr John Rosenberg is registered nurse with a clinical background in community-based palliative care. As a active researcher since 1999, he has focused upon social models of health care, the application of health promotion principles to palliative and end of life care, and community development approaches to the support of dying people.
You can read more about him and view his published works here.

5 Reasons to Get Comfortable With Death by Karen Wyatt MD

One thing (among many) that spending time with dying patients has taught me is to be comfortable with Death. After sitting with many patients through their own journeys to the end-of-life, I no longer fear my own dying. Instead, I view it as the next adventure, with much to explore and learn from. In contrast to most of our society, I think about Death every day and find I am curious about stories, articles, music, and art that deal with the end-of-life.

So I would like to introduce you to my friend Death, known by some as the Grim Reaper or Thanatos. Death is not nearly as frightening or sad as you may have heard, but you’ll have to trust me on that until you get to know Death more intimately for yourself. I encourage you to strike up a friendship of your own, perhaps by volunteering at a hospice or nursing home. If you’re not sure this is a good idea, here are five reasons to get comfortable with Death:

1. It’s going to happen no matter what you do.

Yes, Death is inevitable and it will visit you whether you prepare for it or not. The most irrational aspect of our societal denial of Death is the overwhelming evidence that it exists and cannot possibly be avoided. So rather than waste your energy trying to pretend you’ll never die, take a deep breath and step into the real world of mortality. You’ll find it’s not so bad here.

2. Death is an essential part of Life on Earth.

Spend a little time studying nature and you will soon recognize that Death is a key component of all living things. No tree, flower, blade of grass or tiny insect could exist without the nutrients obtained from the Death of another living thing. The cycle of Life was created to include both Birth and Death and it’s a beautiful thing when you stop to think about it. Death is all around us, all the time, enabling Life to occur and persist. Death is truly Life’s best friend.

3. Death is Universal.

No matter what issues divide us from other people here in our country and around the globe—race, religion, beliefs, economic status, culture, lifestyle—there are two threads that ultimately bind us together with every single being on the planet: each of has been born and each of us will die. This is a profound reality: Death is the one thing we have in common with absolutely every other human being. We all face that ultimate outcome and we all struggle in our own ways with that reality. Here is the impetus for compassion for all others: regardless of our differences we share the sting of mortality. I believe it is a pathway toward peace and understanding for all mankind to share our common pain and fear of Death, learn from one another, and let Death connect us as human beings.

4. Death brings an end to suffering.

I have worked with many elderly folks, my own mother included, who confessed that they were waiting patiently for Death to come. After many years of living a good life they were feeling tired and their deteriorating physical bodies, which had carried them through so many adventures and difficulties, were now the source of suffering. When life becomes too painful to bear, Death is a friend that mercifully brings an end to the agony. Knowing that Death will, without fail, come to bring us home is a source of comfort for those in the midst of great pain.

5. Death makes each moment precious.

When we recognize that life is limited and will one day end, we can utilize this knowledge to bring deeper meaning to every moment. We learn to savor each experience of life because it may not come our way again. Death points us toward living life as fully as possible, while honoring what really matters, like Love and Forgiveness. “Life is fleeting,” Death whispers to us, “waste not one breath.”

So no matter what your current situation is, stop for one moment and consider the fragility of your own life. Can you make room for Death to enter your thoughts every now and then? Can you get comfortable with the idea of Death as part of your life? You have much to gain from getting comfortable with Death ... the best friend that will never desert you.

*This was shared with permission by the author. Find the original story on the Huffpost Blog here.

About the Author:
Dr. Karen Wyatt is a hospice and family physician and the author of the award-winning book “What Really Matters: 7 Lessons for Living from the Stories of the Dying.” She is a frequent keynote speaker and radio show guest whose profound teachings have helped many find their way through the difficult times of life. Learn more about her work at

Dying to Know in the Workplace

It can feel challenging to talk about death and dying at work, but when we seek to generate more compassionate communities, an understanding of bereavement and empathy in the workplace is essential.
Social worker Simone Hallett ran a Dying to Know Day event at her workplace in 2016,  
"It was just a small scale event to mark the day but actually went really well- better than I thought it would; was about 15 of us and we each had to draw a different topic out of a hat and talk to that topic. It was thought provoking, enjoyable and a real departure from our general workplace conversations."

Simone has kindly shared some of the questions that sparked quality discussion at her event. Feel free to use these as inspiration for your own event. We'd love to hear how you go.


  • Does consciousness survive death?
  • What constitutes a good death?
  • What would the world be like if there was no death?
  • How did your family handle the subject of death, or death itself, growing up? What impact did that have on you?
  • Will you be cremated or buried? Why?
  • Is there ever any justification for not being honest with someone that is dying about the fact that they are dying?
  • How would you explain to a young child that a person they know has died?
  • What song would you want played at your funeral?
  • What would you want your headstone to say?
  • Thinking about yourself when the times comes where do you think would be the best place to die? Home/Hospital/Hospice/Nursing Home/ Somewhere else?
  • When the time comes for your death what do you think would be the most important thing for your end of life care?
  • Do you have any written plan for your own end of life care, financial wishes or a written plan for your funeral?
  • If you were to become unwell and/or die tomorrow are your family/loved ones aware of your wishes with regards to end of life care and organ donation?
  • Do you think about your death often? Do you talk about it often?

"Putting Down the Spoon" with Vicki Barry


Vicki is a self confessed "end-trepreneur" with a passion for educating people about their choices and rights with the hope that we all get the best ending in life possible. Here's some of her incredible story. Enjoy.

Over the years I have become increasingly concerned about the medicalization of the dying process, the unrealistic expectations of treatment to prolong life, and the reluctance of healthcare professionals and families to engage in meaningful end of life conversations. I'm also disenfranchised with the funeral industry here in WA which seems intent on maintaining business and death care practices as usual at costs exceeding the national average.

I faced the prospect of my own death at 17 as the result of a car accident where I sustained burns to 17% of my body. My dad was admitted to hospital a few days later and diagnosed with cancer. We spent his last Christmas in hospital together. He died a year later on the anniversary of my accident. That same year, the friend who rescued me from the car only seconds before it exploded was killed in a motorbike accident. These collective experiences of death and loss were profound, especially at this stage in my life. It made me realise just how precious life is.

My advice would be to contemplate your own death while you are well. If you get the opportunity to be with someone who is dying take it. Don't be afraid. Also, be reminded that each time you suffer a loss, whether your job, a friendship, a pet, moving house, divorce, whatever... these are all deaths, and yet life goes on. One door close and another one opens. One life ends and another one begins. That is life.

Recently I had the privilege of actively participating in the washing and shrouding of the body of a deceased Muslim woman. The Islamic funeral practice is as natural as it gets. The custom and rituals of the process are simple, respectful and well directed so that even the uninitiated like myself can undertake the assigned tasks with ease. I was amazed at how quickly the shroud was 'ripped' to measure and the seven cotton pieces laid out in readiness for the washed and dried body. An absolute delight to witness and partake in the process from start to finish.

I'm passionate about bringing death and dying back to community so we are more involved in caring for our loved ones at end of life. There is a beautiful expression, "putting down the spoon", which in times past signalled to family and community that one was at the end of life. Feeding would cease, funeral plans would begin, and people would visit to say their goodbyes and pay their last respects to give closure. Death and mourning were very visible in the community.


“What's the point of talking about death or planning for death?

 "What's the point of talking about or planning for death? 

- I’d rather focus on life."

In the same way that the map of Australia isn’t complete without Tasmania, the ‘circle of life’ is incomplete without death.

Death is considered by many as too sad, too scary, too unfamiliar and therefore too difficult to discuss. Most people choose not to go there. They ignore death and dying until it slaps them in the face, until it’s too late to prepare. Avoiding death only puts off the inevitable and leaves little time to be ready for what’s ahead.

Preferring to focus only on ‘life’ in an effort to somehow keep death at bay, is a half-baked approach. Death is part of our lives whether we like it or not. Not talking about death is a missed opportunity and many are compromised at the end of life, because they chose not keep quiet.

·       Over 70% of us die in hospital though most of us would prefer to die at home  

·       Very few of us outline our plans for treatment and care at the end of our lives and almost half of us die without a will. (ref PCA 2013)

·       Seventy five percent of people have not had end of life discussions yet sixty percent think we don’t talk about death enough.

Last month Prince Harry publicly noted his regret that only talked about the death of his mother a few years ago, sixteen years after the event. 

John Troyer, Deputy Director, Centre for Death and Society at the University of Bath suggests that “what most people need is a reason or a little bit of encouragement to know that it is not weird or macabre to have these discussions” about death.

What’s the point of talking about death?

Talking about death makes us focus on life. This article suggests that fear of dying “stimulates us to cherish those we love, create enduring memories, pursue our hopes and dreams and achieve our potential”.

We’re all going to die one day. Guaranteed. So let’s not be surprised about death any longer. Let’s dive into deliberate discussions about dying. Sure it might be uncomfortable, but what would you prefer?

·       Feeling a bit awkward with someone you love, or living with regret because you didn’t tell them what they meant to you?

·       Ending up on life support after 85 fulfilling years, or dying at home, with your family and dog by your side?

·       Taking one last course of treatment or one last visit to your favourite beach house?

·       Capturing your grandma’s stories of her childhood or wondering what she was like as a young woman.

·       Stressing at the thought of organising your father’s funeral, or confidently putting his plans into place?

7 reasons why we should talk about death

Talking can be tough, but silence can be rough.

It takes courage to talk about death, especially if you’re entering unfamiliar territory. As Brene Brown says, “you can’t get to courage without walking through vulnerability”. It’s only human to feel vulnerable, yet the more we practice talking about death, the more courageous and comfortable and normal it becomes. Talking about dying opens up conversations an insights that we may never have imagined.

Talking about death:

1. Breaks down the barriers that keep our thoughts and fears inside our heads and hearts. Sharing helps us deal with them.

2. Builds bridges that strengthen connections with the people we care about. It helps us  understand what others are thinking. It’s better than making assumptions.

3. Switches on lightbulbs. Talking offers new insights, new information, more to consider. It helps us make sense of our thoughts and actions when we confront the end of life. New perspectives create greater opportunities.

4. Generates curiosity. Asking questions about dying and seeking answers that clarify confusion and fear creating more open, death-accepting societies. 

5. Dampens our fears. Tossing around the reasons we’re scared can help us make sense of our feelings. Most of us fear something about death. Talking about it helps each other deal with it. Professionals can assist when times are really difficult.

6. Helps clear the fog. Conversations can reduce the ‘overwhelm’ associated with dying and death. Asking questions and giving explanations clarifies concerns and helps create greater calm and acceptance.

7. Reminds us that we’re mortal. It gives living an edge by sharpening our focus on making the most of the precious time we have. 

7 reasons why we should plan for death

Being thrust into dying without preparation means people will die in ways they don’t choose and families will flounder in times of great sadness. Making and discussing plans now sets up a smoother path for later.

Planning for death:

1. Maps our preferences for treatment and care at the end stage of life and lifts the weight of responsibility from your loved ones. Making life and death decisions is incredibly difficult for family members during an emotional crisis.

2. Creates fitting farewells. Planning a funeral well before death gives a personal touch to a memorable event.

3. Makes long lasting memories. Sharing thoughts, lessons, stories and recollections leaves lasting treasured memories of and for the people you love.

4. Diminishes regret. Discussions allow us to say and do what matters, with the people we love, before it’s too late.

5. Avoids financial and legal complications. Dying without a will creates dilemmas and often divides grieving families.

6. Offers peace of mind. Discussing your wishes with the people you love increases the chance that they’ll be honoured and respected.

7. Allows for legacy. A handwritten letter, a favourite plant, the smell of your perfume, a gift or memento, a song or a poem, a bequest to a cause – these personal gifts keep your memory alive in the minds and hearts the people who matter.

In their song, ‘Do you realise?’ The Flaming Lips remind us that we, and everyone we know, some day, will die. Sometimes it take a song to remind us that we’re mortal.

So what are you waiting for? A true focus on life includes a focus on death.

Tell the people you love how your feel, make some plans for your future, make friends with death. Get to know it, question it, understand it and open up to death a little more.

Talking about death is good for us. It inspires us to shine a light on life.



Julie Hassard is a speaker, facilitator, mentor, author and consultant, determined to demystify death and inspire people to ‘Do Dying Better’.

Her talks and programs guide individuals, families and health care personnel to explore and make sense of the end of life, so they can make plans for the best experiences of dying and death possible.

Find our more:

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