My mother was the master of the Western Pennsylvania farewell.

People from my neck of the woods are notorious for long good-byes.

And Mom loved a good party. But after a few hours, she’d hit her limit and declare it was time to go home.

My father would get the car. And then wait (not so) patiently, with the engine running, as she made several more rounds. There was always one more person who needed a bit of gossip. A tip about a local sale. And don’t forget to watch for deer on the way home.

Tired as she was, she hated separating from those she cared about and enjoyed.

My mother died as she lived.

The day before Christmas 2017, she told me she was ready to go. Restless, she kept saying “Aren’t you glad this nonsense is finally over?”

 Others didn’t get her message.

“It’s a UTI,” her nurse assured me. “Give the antibiotic time to kick in.”

But Mom knew I heard her loud and clear. Two days later, I wasn’t at all surprised when she slipped into semi-consciousness. By all signs, her death was 24-48 hours away.

This time, I took the driver’s seat, waiting as she made her final rounds.

Which took six more days.

She waited until my brother’s family returned from a trip. She allowed time for her buddies in the retirement community to come by and visit at her bedside.

She stayed until a letter from her best friend arrived in my brother’s office. He brought it by on his lunch hour. We sat together as I read the letter to her.

It was only then that she took her last breath with my brother and me by her side.

Her moment of passing was symbolic.

My mother wanted my brother and me to know, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that she loved us equally. All her life, she made sure we each got the same amount of gifts, money, and attention.

Her death was her last opportunity to prove her point.

My mother died as she lived.

The Power of Story

You may think this is a story I simply made up to ease my memory of a painful experience.

I won’t argue the facts over whether or not humans have control over their exact time of death.

But I will quibble about the word “simply.”

Because there’s nothing simple about the human capacity to weave stories from the events of their lives.

Storytelling is one of our most brilliant survival skills.

We tell ourselves stories in order to live – Joan Didion, writer

In her book The Healing Power of Storytelling, Annie Brewster, MD, describes the many ways that our storytelling helps us heal:

• Coping skills: When you tell your story, you get a break from actually living a difficult experience. That break alleviates stress.
• Social connection. Humans connect emotionally with each other by sharing stories. It’s an excellent anecdote for the loneliness and isolation of grief.
• Relationship transformation:  When you tell stories about your loved one, you feel connected to them. Storytelling allows you to explore new ways to stay close to them, an ability that promotes healing.
• Physical health: Storytelling can positively impact our health, such as  immune system response, blood pressure, and symptom-control of cancer and chronic conditions.
• Better self-care: Storytelling also can contribute to people’s capacity to follow medical advice and practice healthy self-care.
• Mental well-being. We use stories to adapt to major life challenges and changes. Research shows the practice is more closely linked to resilience than our income, race, education, or personality traits.

It’s no wonder storytelling plays a central role in community bereavement ceremonies such as funerals, celebrations of life, shivas, and wakes. All provide opportunities for friends and family to share stories about our loved ones who passed.

Unfortunately, funerals and celebrations of life seem to be fewer and farther between these days.  We living folk seem to have little emotional capacity to think about and plan our own end-of-life ceremonies.

Some of us don’t feel right about asking others to put their lives on pause to gather on our behalf when we won’t really be there.

But here’s the thing.

Funerals aren’t for the dead. They’re for the living.

I could bemoan further how our death phobic culture creates suffering.

But truthfully, funeral services are only a small step forward for the deeply bereaved. At best.

When we lose someone precious to us, it takes time. It takes a deep dive into our memories and emotions. We need companionship to make mourning work as it should.

Storytelling can continue to serve our grieving process.

Healing Narrative

Storytelling is central to my coaching practice.  I help my clients recount their relationship history with their loved one.  First memories. Pivotal experiences that changed their relationship. Final moments spent with their loved ones.

When we’re done, something profound happens.

Their experience starts to make sense.

I don’t mean they find some silver lining to their loss. The death of a loved one will never feel like a net positive.

But finding a story arc to their relationship provides order to their chaotic memory of events. That sense of order settles their heart.

They start to see how their walk through the emotional fire made them wiser and stronger.

They remember the love of their friends who accompanied them through the darkest hours. This reminds them they never were and never will be alone.

Our stories teach us that, while we can’t prevent death and loss, we can choose how to respond to it.

And our sense of agency reconnects us to hope.

A Simple Story

Did my mother really choose the moment of her passing?

This is one of those mysterious questions about death that makes for great bar conversation.

But this story isn’t about facts.

It’s about my mother’s essential nature and deepest values. It’s about how she felt so connected to her people, she could not bear to say good-bye to them. And that she wanted her children to know, above all else, that we were BOTH and EQUALLY her favorites.

This story isn’t about facts.

It’s a story about the truth of how my mother lived until she died.

And that's what matters.

Want support getting through a big loss?

My coaching uses proven methods for helping people adapt to life after loss. You’ll learn exactly how to work with intense emotions, so they cause you less suffering. You’ll know how to recognize your own healing progress, giving you hope that life can feel easier again. Grief coaching also helps you get clearer on what matters most to you. You’ll start to recreate a life after loss that truly feels worth living.

Rather connect through email? Send your questions to cindy@shadowlandscoaching.com.

Get your copy of The Griever's Guide to The Shadowlands of Loss