Living/dying Consciously

02/02/2026

Webinar: Feb 4th

02/02/2026

Write or draw three things you’re holding on to and one thing you’re letting go.
download this activity sheet athttps://www.dougy.org/assets/uploads/Holding-On-and-Letting-Go.pdf

For more activities and resources to help kids and teens who are grieving, go to www.dougy.org/resources.

02/01/2026

01/31/2026

Saying goodbye is one of the hardest decisions we face as pet parents — but you don’t have to face it alone. 💗 If you’re noticing changes in your pet’s comfort, happiness, or daily routines, our team is here to help you navigate this stage with love, honesty, and understanding. Together, we’ll focus on what matters most: your pet’s peace and dignity. 🕯️🐾

01/30/2026

People love to soften grief with "at least."

"At least they lived a long life."

"At least they went peacefully."

"At least you got to say goodbye."

Like those words are supposed to cushion the blow. Like they're handing you something that makes the loss hurt less.

They're not.

Because here's the thing about grief—it doesn't do math. It doesn't calculate age and circumstance and tick boxes that determine how bad you're allowed to feel.

They were 90? Still gone.

It was peaceful? Still dead.

You saw it coming? Still unbearable.

None of that changes the fact that you're living in a world without them now. That their chair is empty. That you reach for your phone to call them and remember—again—that you can't.

The "at least" isn't for you. It's for them. It's their way of making your grief more manageable, more logical, easier to wrap their heads around.

But grief isn't logical. And it sure as hell isn't easier just because someone else decided it should be.

So, no. There is no "at least." There's just loss. And it's allowed to hurt exactly as much as it does.
Written by: Aimee Suyko - In Their Footsteps

01/30/2026

"No one is actually dead until the ripples they cause in the world die away" - Terry Pratchett

01/30/2026

There’s a part of caregiving that no one really talks about. The part that lives quietly in your heart and soul long after the person you love is gone.

Being a caregiver to someone you love is actually one of the greatest gifts of love there is, and also one of the most devastating.

When you’re caring for someone who’s dying, you live in a constant state of anticipation and dread. You ‘know’ what’s coming, even if you don’t want to admit it.

You try to prepare yourself. You say things like “I know this is coming” as if knowing will somehow make it hurt less.

Here’s the thing…it doesn’t.

I was there. I watched the person I love fade right in front of me. I learned what it meant to measure time not in days, but in breaths. In moments. In how long it had been since they last opened their eyes or squeezed my hand.

I held the person I loved as they took their final breath, and unless you’ve done something like that, you’ll never understand what it feels like and how it changes you.

And no amount of ‘being prepared’ makes that moment anything other than devastating.

After they’re gone, people say things like, “At least you had time to say goodbye.” And yes, I did. But what they don’t understand is that watching someone die is its own kind of trauma. You don’t just lose them once, you lose them slowly, over and over again, long before they die.

And then comes the guilt. Did I do enough? Did I miss something? Should I have said more or less? Did I make the right decisions?

Even when you do everything you possibly can, the questions still show up, and grief has this weird ways of turning love into self-doubt.

What people don’t talk about is how lonely caregiving can be. How you carry so much responsibility, fear, and heartbreak while trying to stay strong for the person you love.

How you grieve them even while they’re still here and then have to grieve all over again when they’re gone.

Loving someone through their final days is one of the hardest things a human being can do.

It leaves marks on your heart that never fully fade…but those marks are proof of love, not failure.

Gary Sturgis – Surviving Grief

01/28/2026

Anyone caring for someone living with ALS or grieving after a loss, can receive three months of private, personalized text messages offering guidance, encouragement, and practical support—delivered directly to their phones. Messages are tailored to each person’s situation and grounded in evidence-based best practices. Signing up for Help Texts takes less than five minutes, and the service is FREE for the first three months as a gift from the ALS Association. Participants may choose to continue receiving messages beyond the initial three months if they find Help Texts helpful. Sign up for free support here 💚 https://helptexts.com/alsassociation