When you are dying, at least in my limited experience, you start remembering everything. Images come in flashes—people and places and stray conversations—and refuse to stop. I see my best friend from elementary school as we make a mud pie in her back yard, top it with candles and a tiny American flag, and watch, in panic, as the flag catches fire. I see my college boyfriend, wearing boat shoes a few days after a record-breaking snowstorm, slipping and falling into a slush puddle. I want to break up with him, so I laugh until I can’t breathe. Maybe my brain is replaying my life now because I have a terminal diagnosis, and all these memories will be lost. Maybe it’s because I don’t have much time to make new ones, and some part of me is sifting through the sands.She writes about her family, about her treatment, about her parents and husband raising her children and how they might not remember her, about her first cousin Robert F. Kennedy, Jr., now Secretary of Health and Human Serivces, cutting half a billion dollars from the funding for the research that could have saved her and countless others. Please read it.
You have come to the right place, and we are glad you are here. This is a safe place to share stories of love and loss, devastating grief, exhausting care-giving, memorials, advanced directives, mourning, hope, and despair. We want to hear about about what you wish you had known or done differently, what you wish those around you had known or done differently, and what went right. We will never tell you to move on or find closure. "What cannot be said will be wept." Sappho
Saturday, November 22, 2025
Tatiana Schlossberg Faces a Terminal Diagnosis
Tatiana Schlossberg comes from a family known for extraordinary gifts and unthinkable tragedy. Her grandfather was President John F. Kennedy and her mother is the only surviving member of the family who lived with him in the White House, Caroline Kennedy. Tatiana is a journalist of exceptional ability and dedication to the environment. She is married to a doctor and the mother of young children. Just after her most recent baby was born, the doctors noticed a problem with her blood. She has been in treatment for acute myeloid leukemia, with a rare mutation called Inversion 3, ever since. And now she has been told that her prognosis is terminal.
In an essay for the New Yorker, she writes:
Monday, November 17, 2025
Come See Me In The Good Light — Documentary about a Dying Poet
After a terminal diagnosis, poets Andrea Gibson and Megan Falley found joy, poetry, and light in each other.
Monday, November 3, 2025
Happiness Expert on Why and How We Need to Think About Our Own Death
From happiness expert Arthur Brooks:
As persuasive as the evidence is that thinking about your death can be a good happiness protocol, it doesn’t come naturally, as we’ve seen. Here’s some ideas to try.
Meditate on your death. Try beginning each day with a version of this: “I know that in a few years, I will be dead, and a few years after that, no one will even remember my name. But I am alive this day, and I will not waste it.” This is a version of exposure therapy, a practice that helps to confront one’s fears, become more familiar with them, and, in the end, fear them less.
Take stock of your true goals and plans. How many of your dreams are leading you to postpone love and happiness right now? By this, I don’t mean postponing a bit of money or any other trivial worldly reward; I mean love and relationships. For the sake of some future reward, are you neglecting your family life today? Your friendships? Your spiritual development? Envision yourself having just months to live and giving your current self some life advice.
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