This ends.

On 27.06.24, my Nana Evie died. In her death, I came to understand, “This ends.”

She died on an inward breath, as if anticipating what’s next. Only my mum, her daughter, was with her. I think she wanted it that way. Witnessing her final weeks was like a long labour ending in surrender.

I came to her an hour after her last breath. I walked into the room to see her body, so still, and I felt immensely proud of her. I felt proud like I do when I see someone holding their freshly birthed baby. You did it, I whispered to her hushed face. I kissed her cold cheek.

My mum and I tended her sweet, soft, empty body. There was still warmth radiating from her head and her heart.

We removed her nighty and washed her from the feet to the head. We honoured the parts of her that did the heavy work of living. Her feet, her knees, her thighs, her sex organs, pelvis, reproductive organs, her belly, her lungs, her heart, her arms and shoulders, her mouth, ears, lips and her head, her skin.

We closed her bones with marigold shrouds and pulled the numerous bouquets from around the room apart so that we could adorn her. She looked magnificent.

A week later we held her ceremony in our family home because home is where the heart is. When she arrived she seemed even smaller. We refreshed her flowers, this time with the whole family and the six of us stood around her, one final glance before the lid was placed back on the wicker basket (but not before our wee Dizz stole a look of his first ever dead body.)

We lit candles and incense and sung Hallelujah. We reflected on how we got here. My mum is a master death walker. She sat by her mum’s bedside for months tending, kissing, massaging, advocating, remembering, crying, grieving, forgiving, loving, truth-telling, waiting, healing, and cracking open.

We reminded each other that death is a doorway, just like birth. My nana feared death but my mum and I are writing a new story. By speaking, singing, witnessing and being in deep devotion we honour Evie’s soul journey and make space for the grief to process in our still living bodies. We remember that depth of our grief reflects the breath of our love. For my children to experience their first funeral as such a loving, deep and personal celebration makes me feel like we’re doing something really right.