The Deaths Before the Dying

“The thing they don't tell you about, when someone you love dies because of a sickness, is that death happens in a million different ways in the lead up to the actual moment.” ~ Jessica Johns, Bad Cree

I think about this quote often. It holds a truth that many of us only come to understand through experience - the kind of truth that can’t be explained in advance, only lived.

As a death doula, I walk beside people as they near the end of life, and I also walk beside the families who love them. In these spaces, I have witnessed firsthand what this quote is trying to say: that death is not a single moment, but a slow unraveling. A series of tiny goodbyes. A million little losses that come long before the final breath.

When someone is dying from a prolonged illness - cancer, dementia, ALS, organ failure - there is the obvious grief of knowing the end is coming; but then there is also the quieter griefs. The one where their voice weakens and you realize you will never hear them say your name the same way again. The one where they forget the story you used to tell together. The one where they cannot get out of bed anymore. Or eat their favorite meal. Or laugh at the joke they used to love.

Each of those moments is a kind of death.

The death of shared routines. Of familiar smells. Of the roles you each played in one another’s lives. The death of the way you used to look at each other. The death of how it was - before the hospital visits, before the meds lined the countertops, before the long silences.

It is disorienting because it feels like you are grieving before anything has officially “happened.” And yet, so much is happening. You are grieving with them, not just for them.

This kind of anticipatory grief is exhausting. It is layered and quiet and doesn't always get the recognition it deserves. People around you may not understand why you are so tired, or why you are already crying, even though “they are still here.” But your heart knows. Your body knows.

And so, I want to say this, in case no one else has:

• You are not imagining it. You are already grieving.

• You are grieving the person as they slowly change, as pieces of them slip away, and as pieces of you do too.

• You are allowed to feel that loss now - not just later, not just when the obituary gets written or the service takes place.

Death is not one moment. It is many. And the love you feel through each of those tiny deaths is real. It is sacred. It is part of the goodbye.

If you are walking this path now, or have walked it before, I see you. And if you are supporting someone on this path, remember: they are already carrying so much. Speak gently. Hold space.

The truth is, dying is full of living. And grieving starts long before the end.

So be present. Breathe. Say the things. Let yourself break a little. And know that in these million little deaths, there is still deep, enduring love.

—

If you or someone you love is navigating end-of-life or anticipatory grief, you don’t have to do it alone. As a death doula, I am here to support the emotional, spiritual, and practical aspects of this sacred transition. Reach out anytime.

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