What I Have Learned From Sitting At The Bedside

People think death is all grand last words and dramatic exits. But here’s the thing: it’s mostly quiet. (NOT ALWAYS) Uneventful in the way a sunrise is uneventful, unless you’re paying close attention.

I’ve sat at a few bedsides. Some were surrounded by family, hands held tightly. Others were alone.

Each time, I learn something. Not in a life-changing “wow, what a teachable moment” kind of way. More like a deep knowing that settles in your chest, wordless but still real.

Here are a few things death has brought to me from the bedside:

1. Silence is not empty.

We’re so trained to fill the air. To explain, to soothe, to fix. But there’s power in silence. Some of the most sacred moments I’ve witnessed happened when no one said a thing. Just breath, presence, maybe a hand on a hand. That’s enough. Sometimes, it’s everything.

2. People die how they lived.

The control freaks? They’re managing their exit like a project plan. The comedians? Still cracking jokes with their final breaths. The tender-hearted? Worried about everyone else until the very end. There’s no right way to die, but personality doesn’t stop when dying starts.

3. It’s okay to not know what to say.

There are no magic words. The dying don’t need perfect speeches, they need you. Your presence. Your willingness to show up and stay. Sometimes “I’m here” is the most healing thing a person can hear.

4. Touch matters.

I get asked a lot, “Can I touch them?” Almost with a need for permission and acknowledgment that it’s not contagious. YES. Please do! (Assuming they are comfortable with physical touch) kiss their forehead, hold their hand, rub lotion on their dry feet. I can see myself climbing right into the bed with my mom. These gestures speak volumes. Touch says, You are still human. You are still loved. You are not alone.

5. Dying is part of living.

I know that sounds obvious, but most people live like it’s not. Sitting at the bedside has taught me that dying isn’t the opposite of life, it’s part of it. It strips away the nonsense and leaves behind what’s real: love, presence, truth. It’s the very thing that gives our lives meaning.

I never leave a bedside unchanged. Every single time, something in me softens. My priorities shift. My grip on petty stuff loosens.

It’s humbling. It’s sacred. And yeah, sometimes it’s awkward, icky, or just hard as hell.

But if you’ve ever wondered what it’s like to be at someone’s side as they leave this world, let me tell you it’s not about knowing what to do. It’s about being willing to be there.

Fully.
Quietly.
Bravely.

That’s where the real learning happens.