I work in a space that many people avoid.

I sit with people at the end of their lives. I stand at the front of rooms helping families say

goodbye. I teach professionals, carers, and communities how to talk about death in ways

that are open, compassionate and informed.

And here’s what I know to be true - The fear of talking about death is almost always worse

than the conversation itself.

As a soul midwife, my work is about presence. It’s about holding space when life is fragile,

and time feels precious. I support people who are dying and the people who love them. I

witness the quiet moments, the unfinished conversations, the things that matter deeply

when everything else falls away.

And do you know what comes up again and again? ‘I wish we’d talked about this sooner’.

Not in a dramatic way. Not with regret that swallows everything. Just a gentle recognition

that it would have helped. That knowing someone’s wishes, their fears, their preferences,

their stories – would have made things lighter.

As a funeral celebrant, I see the other side of that. I sit at kitchen tables with families who

are trying to piece together a life. They are tired. They are grieving. And they want to do

their person justice.

Sometimes they know exactly what Mum would have wanted. They know the music, the

readings, the colours, the tone. They know the stories because they’ve been shared.

Other times, they are guessing. And guessing is heavy.

When we haven’t talked about what matters to us, the people left behind carry the weight

of making decisions in the dark. They worry about getting it wrong. They replay choices in

their minds long after the day has passed.

Talking about death isn’t about being morbid. It’s about being kind.

As a death educator, I spend a lot of time normalising these conversations. I run workshops,

I teach professionals, I speak openly about mortality because I believe knowledge reduces

fear. When we understand our options. When we explore what we value. When we reflect

on what makes a life meaningful. We become less afraid of the subject and more

empowered within it.

And woven through all of this is story. Story is everything. The stories we tell about our

childhood. The stories about what shaped us. The things that make us laugh. The music that

moves us. The values we want carried forward. The lessons we hope our children

remember.

When someone dies, those stories become anchors. They give comfort. They give identity.

They give continuity.

Sharing our stories while we are still here is a gift. It says, ‘This is who I am. This is what

matters to me. This is how I want to be remembered'.

Yes, it can feel emotional. Of course, it can. Talking about death touches something deep in

us. It asks us to acknowledge that life is finite. But here’s the truth I’ve learned from sitting

at bedsides and standing beside coffins:

Avoiding the conversation does not make the reality easier. In fact, it often makes it harder.

When we choose to speak, to document, to share, we remove uncertainty. We reduce

anxiety. We give the people we love clarity. And clarity, at a time of crisis, is one of the

greatest acts of care.

This is where tools like the  Legacy Share app feel so powerful.

Because not everyone is ready to sit down for a two-hour heart-to-heart conversation. Not

everyone knows how to start. Sometimes we need gentle prompts. Sometimes we need a

structured space to record our thoughts, our memories, our wishes. Legacy Share creates

that space.

It encourages us to capture our stories while we can. To store our voice, our words, our

preferences. To share not just the practical details, but the human details.

Who we are. What we love. What we believe. What we want

.

That information is priceless.

I have seen families light up when they hear a story they didn’t know. I have watched grief

soften when someone realises, ‘This is exactly what Dad would have wanted’. I have seen

the relief that comes when there are written wishes to guide decisions.

And beyond death, there is something else. Having these conversations changes how we

live.

When we reflect on what matters at the end, we often adjust what matters now. We

prioritise differently. We speak more honestly. We repair relationships. We say the things

we mean to say. Mortality sharpens clarity.

My work isn’t about selling death. It’s about supporting life by acknowledging its limits. It’s

about helping people approach the inevitable with courage, information, and compassion.

Whether that’s sitting quietly with someone who is dying. Crafting a ceremony that truly

reflects a life. Teaching a room full of professionals how to hold space. Or encouraging

someone to document their legacy.

It all comes back to the same thing - Connection.

The more we share, our wishes, our stories, our vulnerabilities, the more supported we all

become. We do not have to do this alone.

Talking about death won’t make it arrive any sooner. But it will make it less frightening. And

sharing who we are while we are here ensures that when our time does come, the people

we love are not left guessing.

They will know.

And that knowing is a profound act of love; it is a gift.