Saving Grace Thanadoula

12/21/2025

Today you would have been 84, years young.

Happy Birthday momma 🩷

12/17/2025

12/17/2025

11/30/2025

When we sit with someone who is nearing the end of their life, we step into a space where time becomes unmeasurable. We can offer estimates like “hours to days,” but we don’t know for sure, no one does.

What we do know is that each day matters, each moment, each breath, and each small exchange. How we show up, how we soften our voices, and how we open our hearts, becomes part of the story their family will carry into their grief. I try to remind the people I support that the significance of this moment doesn’t wait for the final breath, it lives in every hour and the minutes before it.

I carry this awareness with me every time I walk into a patient’s room. I understand that mine might be the last eyes they look into, the last voice they hear, or the last gentle touch they feel as I take their hand in mine.
That truth guides the way I approach their bedside, and I hope it guides others who sit with the dying, whether they are doing this personally or professionally.

If we all entered that space with the understanding that this moment could be the last, I believe it would transform how present and tender we are. And if what they take with them is a gentle touch, a quiet word, or simply the feeling of being seen, then that, to me, is enough.

And when that last breath has been taken, don’t rush it. That moment is profoundly sacred, and if those at the bedside can come to realize it on their own, let them. It doesn’t need an announcement, only a quiet pause as we honor the life that has just slipped into stillness.

xo
Gabby
www.thehospiceheart.net

11/24/2025

We talk about closure as though it is a door that shuts cleanly, firm, final, absolute. We say we have “put closure on the past,” as if healing is as simple as turning a key. Even the definition suggests an ending: an act or process of closing something. But when it comes to death, to grief, to the tender work of end-of-life care, closure becomes something far more complicated. How do you close a door on someone you love? How do you end something that continues to live inside you?

At the end of life, closure is often described as the process of finding peace and acceptance, for both the dying person and the people who love them. But true closure is not an erasing of what has happened; it is not the final page of a book. Closure is not forgetting. It is not “moving on.” It is not a sudden stillness where pain once lived.

Closure, in this sacred space, is the gentle act of making peace with reality.

For the person who is dying, closure may look like unfinished things finally tended to: saying goodbye, expressing love, asking for forgiveness, or offering it. It can mean putting affairs in order, arranging care for a partner or a pet, or leaving behind words that were never spoken. It may mean accepting that life is coming to its natural end, and seeking comfort in knowing their people, and their world, will continue on. Closure for the dying is not about shutting a life down; it is about setting it gently into place.

For the people who remain at the bedside, closure may look like giving themselves permission to say goodbye. Saying I love you one last time. Saying the thing they have needed to say for years. Or holding a hand quietly, knowing no words are necessary. Closure, for them, is often about softening guilt, releasing regret, and recognizing that they have done what they could with the time they were given.

Closure does not erase grief. It does not end longing. It does not silence the ache of missing someone. Closure simply makes room for grief to exist without being tangled in anger, shame, or unfinished business. It is peace in the midst of loss, not the absence of it.

Maybe we need to rethink closure altogether. Maybe it is not a slamming door at all. Maybe closure is a door that eases itself toward the frame but never fully latches. A door that can be pushed open whenever a memory arises, when love calls, or when grief asks to be felt again. Because grief is not linear, and love does not end. We need that door open sometimes.

Closure, in the world of end-of-life care, is not a final act. It is a quiet acceptance. A softening. A settling of the heart. It is the courage to face the truth of what has happened while allowing yourself to keep loving, to keep remembering, to keep walking through that half-open door whenever you need to.

Closure is not an ending.
Closure is peace, the kind that lets us carry both love and loss at the same time.

At least that is how I look at it...
xo
Gabby
www.thehospiceheart.net

11/22/2025

11/15/2025

If you’re looking for new ways to honour a loved one that is as stunning as it is sentimental, look no farther 🩶

Honour Your Connection

11/13/2025

🎄Coping with the Holidays – Grief Support Group 🎄

The holiday season can be especially difficult for those who are grieving. At Hospice North Hastings, we understand that joy and loss often coexist during this time of year.

Join us for a supportive and compassionate group session where you can share your experiences, connect with others who understand, and explore ways to manage grief throughout the holidays. Together, we’ll discuss alternative traditions and gentle ways to find meaning in the season.

📅 Thursday, November 27th, 2025
🕑 2:00 PM – 3:30 PM
📍 Community Futures (26 Chemaushgon Rd)

Facilitated by:
Lise Preston, MSW, RSW
Grief and Bereavement Coordinator
📞 613-332-1100

Everyone is welcome. 💚
Take this opportunity to find comfort, connection, and hope as we move through the holiday season together.

11/12/2025

Handcrafted cremation jewellery made with care and respect.

10/20/2025

We never know whether or not we will be the last person someone talks to before they die, or that our eyes will be the last they look into. That in itself is important for us and for them, something we should be mindful and respectful of. And when that last breath is taken and you are there… don’t rush it. Sit with it for a moment. Take a pause and breathe and honor the significance of it all.

Whether you are at their bedside personally or professionally, there is a reason you were there, I don’t think it’s an accident, I think it’s meant to be. Perhaps you were somehow chosen because you could honor the preciousness of that time, of their life, and their death, in the beautiful way it deserves.

xo
Gabby
www.thehospiceheart.net