The Dying are Our Teachers: After all these years caring for hospice patients, this has become my foundational understanding and teaching. I think it is assumed, at times, that I am talking just about those “on their deathbed.” The beautiful reality, however, is that this truth applies to all of those who realize that their life is coming to an end. Whether it is the person with cancer who has just been told by their oncologist “I am sorry, there is nothing more I can do for you” (BTW, a phrase that should NEVER leave a doctors lips), or someone who has hours to days to live, or even, perhaps, someone who has come to accept and embrace the fact that they are mortal and chose to embrace this life with death on their shoulder, they are all teachers.

The lessons they teach, the advice they give, the wisdom they share, and the examples they provide all come from a narrative that is uniquely theirs and from a place where we all will be.

The Celts talked about the “parting of the veil,” a moment when the actively dying person is given the gift of knowing what is truly happening in this liminal space. I have had the privilege of being with folks at that time, and it changes things for those who, like me, are so gifted with being present beside the dying. But some people, I suspect, have a sense of that parting while they are further upstream in the dying process. These folks often choose, and I believe are Divinely motivated, to share with us what they are becoming aware of.

One of these people was Andrea Gibson (August 13, 1975- July 14, 2025).

From Wikipedia : Andrea Faye Gibson was an American poet and activist. Their poetry focused on gender norms, politics, social justice, LGBTQ topics, life, and mortality. Gibson was appointed as the Poet Laureate of Colorado in 2023.

Andrea shared their journey with cancer with such vulnerability and from a perspective that seemed to always address both sides of the mortal coin.

I chose to recognize them in this post as they can tell you about life and death in such remarkable ways and with such powerful words.

Gibson’s Love Letter from the Afterlife offers comfort for those grieving and instruction for all of us.

My love, I was so wrong. Dying is the opposite of leaving. When I left my body, I did not go away. That portal of light was not a portal to elsewhere, but a portal to here. I am more here than I ever was before. I am more with you than I ever could have imagined. So close you look past me when wondering where I am. It’s Ok. I know that to be human is to be farsighted. But feel me now, walking the chambers of your heart, pressing my palms to the soft walls of your living. Why did no one tell us that to die is to be reincarnated in those we love while they are still alive? Ask me the altitude of heaven, and I will answer, “How tall are you?” In my back pocket is a love note with every word you wish you’d said. At night I sit ecstatic at the loom weaving forgiveness into our worldly regrets. All day I listen to the radio of your memories. Yes, I know every secret you thought too dark to tell me, and love you more for everything you feared might make me love you less. When you cry I guide your tears toward the garden of kisses I once planted on your cheek, so you know they are all perennials. Forgive me, for not being able to weep with you. One day you will understand. One day you will know why I read the poetry of your grief to those waiting to be born, and they are all the more excited. There is nothing I want for now that we are so close I open the curtain of your eyelids with my own smile every morning. I wish you could see the beauty your spirit is right now making of your pain, your deep seated fears playing musical chairs, laughing about how real they are not. My love, I want to sing it through the rafters of your bones, Dying is the opposite of leaving. I want to echo it through the corridor of your temples, I am more with you than I ever was before. Do you understand? It was me who beckoned the stranger who caught you in her arms when you forgot not to order for two at the coffee shop. It was me who was up all night gathering sunflowers into your chest the last day you feared you would never again wake up feeling lighthearted. I know it’s hard to believe, but I promise it’s the truth. I promise one day you will say it too– I can’t believe I ever thought I could lose you.

I could write for hours and never touch their impact. I hope you will sit with a sample of their lessons that you can scroll through below (originally published on Instagram), and perhaps visit their website to learn about and to honor their life.