By seizing every opportunity for kindness, forgiveness, healing, and love that crosses my path each day, I hope that my death, although perhaps sad for some, will be gracefully concluded.

I entered the picture in the eleventh hour as a guide to the exit of his life. I navigated as best I could the role of end-of-life shepherd—a journey that I had never taken before. I have to forgive myself for what I did not know. And I have to forgive him for the times that he felt unequipped to deal with the unknown.

I believe one of the most important reasons I am here today is to practice forgiveness and to learn the power of it as a gift to others and myself. By focusing on forgiveness in my life today, I am promoting my healing and lessening my regrets.

The shift from thinking that I must feel forgiveness to the practice of repetitive giving forgiveness has helped me in my healing journey.

Grief is part of my human experience. There will always be loss during my lifetime. Loss has come in a variety of forms to me—such as death, divorce, losing a job, and selling a beloved home. Each event brought me new opportunities and experiences that would not have been possible otherwise.

Surrendering to the best of my abilities when the price of life has outweighed its benefit may be a compassionate choice for me and those around me.

By acknowledging my impermanence, I can consider if there is anything I can do now to help my loved ones who will be left behind cope with losing me and to facilitate healing.

I am not knocking advances that provide a healthier life and alleviate suffering or unnecessary premature death. I am advocating inclusion of education on end-of-life matters and the promotion of understanding, conversation, and planning.

As I enlarged my vision to see the bigger picture of my dad’s full life, I was better able to let go of being stuck in memories of its end.

As I inch forward to embrace my life again by being mindful, writing books, and planning adventures, I sense my dad would approve. I know he would want me to be happy.

I am certain that I’m not the only one who would like to have a do-over on an interaction with a loved one.

When I reflect on the stories of death supported by hospice care and contrast it with our story depicting an absence of support, I find myself dealing with envy and anger. I have channeled those emotions into this book with the hope that hearing our story might give someone else a chance to create a better ending to the life of a loved one.

A paradigm shift of viewing palliative care or hospice as a gift instead of seeing it as giving up has the potential to change the way we experience advanced age.

What would I have wanted to say if I had had the opportunity to see him one more time? I would like to think that I would have kept it simple and said, “I love you,” then just held his hand in silence, letting that thought linger in the space of the time we had left together.

If the push towards life sustaining technology were balanced with options for comfort care in both medical school training and the healthcare culture, more people would have the chance to transition to death with dignity and grace.

I believe it’s imperative to bring the light of support and knowledge to patients and families when death is approaching.

Without guidance and support for patients and families approaching death, there may be unnecessary conflict, confusion, and trauma that linger long after the passing of a loved one.

It behooves me to remember as I advance in age that death is an inevitable part of the life cycle rather than a medical failure.

My dad’s life was magnificent, but only if I let myself see and remember more than his years of decline.

When I contemplate life as well as death, I am discovering what really matters to me now.