I got the text message at 5:00 AM this morning. “I am alone with M. and she just took her last breath. What a sacred moment… pure light.” My friend has been sitting with her dying grandmother, whom she loves dearly, for several weeks and I have been honored to share moments during the process. Despite being 90 years old, her grandmother was fairly unprepared for death. In a very short period of time she went through a whole cycle of fear and denial before ultimately accepting and understanding what was to come. The early days were extremely difficult for her family, less so because she was leaving them than because she was so afraid and unprepared. When she ultimately faced her situation head on, she was able to transform the terror of thinking it was her last chance to laugh into the opportunity to share one more laugh, and that with a family that had already received an abundance in their many years together. In the end she went gracefully, beautifully, and those who loved her were able to feel joy in her peaceful passage. I imagine her stepping through a door proudly, confidently, waving to those behind.

It’s so easy to get caught up in the ending. The final minutes when Weishi handed me the last of our relationship and drove away to California were so intense they sometimes felt like half of our four years together as I held them in my mind. At the same time, the relationship was not its ending. Over time those last moments have shrunk back down to take their proper place among memories of sailing in the rain, long bike rides, photographing bears in Alaska, and eating pineapple beside the pounding surf and smiling moon of Maui.

My grandfather was a pastor, and an incredible example of faith like I have never seen before or since. It was a quiet and unshakeable part of him. When his time came he welcomed it, having prepared his whole life a belief that he was moving on from his time on earth to begin another in heaven. The effect that this attitude had on my mother and her brothers was inspiring. Of course they grieved losing him, but their grief was for their own loss and for him there was only joy.

When I go I want the response to be, “wow. We got everything we could outa that guy.” At my funeral I want everyone to be handed a tiny film canister (if film canisters still exist!) of ashes and told that they have to spread them over the soil of a country they haven’t yet visited. I want my death to be a moment that inspires anyone who hasn’t already faced mortality to wake up and run out of the morgue screaming, “More life! More intensity! Bring it on!” Of course, that’s only possible if I live my own life the same way, so I’d better leave this laptop and get after it.

Goodnight M. I never got the chance to know you but your energy spread through those you love to reach me thousands of miles away. Thanks.