Death

Walking With People Through Loss

There are very few constants in our existence: birth, change, taxes, and death. Everything else is variable.

Death is the one appointment none of us can cancel. The finish line looks different for each person, but it is certain for all of us. In that way, death may be the most honest teacher we have. It reminds us that our time is limited. And because it is limited, it matters.

Yet in modern society, death is largely removed from daily life or vilified. Fifty to one hundred years ago, people were more familiar with it. Warfare, infectious disease, and workplace accidents made death visible and frequent. Today, people live longer. Much of our medical system is built around extending life — sometimes wisely, sometimes reflexively.

But preparation for death is supposed to be part of medicine too.

We talk about prevention, cholesterol, glucose, cancer screening. We talk less often about advance directives, medical power of attorney, or living wills. As of 2017, only 36.7% of adults had completed a power of attorney, and just 29.3% had a living will. That means most families will eventually be forced to make high-stakes decisions in moments of crisis without guidance or a plan.

Even when someone is named executor — medical or financial — there is almost no training for what comes next. Prior to my grandparents passing, I naïvely assumed that death marked the end of responsibility. I was wrong.

There are logistics. Funeral planning. Estate matters. Cleaning out homes. Care transitions. Unfinished conversations.

Much of it can be addressed before someone passes — but often is not.

There is also the toll of caregiving. The quiet exhaustion before death, and the hollow quiet afterward. I have not lost a parent, partner, or child, so I will not pretend to understand those experiences fully. Some grief cannot be intellectually accessed — it can only be lived.

In January, I lost two patients I loved. Family medicine is a gift because I care for entire families. When one person dies, you see the ripple effect. It’s like a stone thrown into water — the impact spreads outward, touching each life differently.

You begin to understand how one human being lives inside many others.

Sometimes I see my children make the same facial expression my grandmother used to make. In that moment, she is not gone — she is refracted through them. We live on in the people we shape.

And yet grief is still real. It is a metamorphosis. The world remains the same, but you do not. There is a hole that cannot be filled. You do not “move on.” You move forward altered.

Sometimes there is a peaceful passing. Sometimes there is chaos. Some deaths bring new life into perspective. Others bring destruction that feels unbearable.

A church deacon once told me that when someone is grieving, he doesn’t try to say anything profound. He simply stands with them. There is nothing you can say that brings someone back. Presence matters more than explanation.

I once made the mistake of asking a father who had lost his daughter, “How are you?” He said, “Dan, the pain is unfathomable.”

He was right.

Maybe it's my ego, but you want to "fix" these situations. You want those who have lost to feel better, you wish you could revive those who are lost. I don't want people to suffer and hurt. I'm not God or a Genie and I can't give those people what they want, their person back. I can't solve this situation, and I think the only thing I can do is be there for them.

Early loss can feel especially brutal. It is not just the loss of the person — it is the loss of the future you imagined. The birthdays that won’t happen. The conversations that will never occur.

When I drive past my grandfather’s old senior living center, I still want him to be there. I want to sit down and listen to the same stories for the hundredth time. Grief often shows up as longing for ordinary moments.

One of the hardest parts of loss is contrast. The world continues. People talk about trivial things. Traffic moves. The grocery store is stocked. And you are walking around missing a piece of yourself.

It can feel isolating.

But if there is anything that gives meaning to our existence, it is relationship. Love leaves a mark. Loss is the cost of connection.

We cannot avoid death. We can prepare for it. We can walk with people through it. And we can honor those who shaped us by living in a way that reflects the light they gave us.

That may be the closest thing to immortality we experience.

3-Bullet Summary

• Death is inevitable but often neglected in modern life; preparation for it is an essential but under-discussed part of medicine and family responsibility.

• Grief is not something to fix — it is something to walk through. Presence matters more than explanation.

• Loss changes us permanently, but relationships endure through the impact we leave on others.

3 Practical Takeaways

1. Complete the Basics

   • Establish a medical power of attorney.

   • Create a living will or advance directive.

   • Have at least one clear conversation with your loved ones about your wishes.

2. Prepare Logistically Before Crisis

   • Organize important documents.

   • Clarify financial accounts and beneficiaries.

   • Reduce the burden your family would face during a time of grief.

3. When Someone Is Grieving — Don’t Fix, Just Stand

   • Avoid clichés.

   • Avoid over-spiritualizing unless invited.

   • Say: “I’m here.” And mean it.