The Space Where Truth Lives

I'd become increasingly discontent with my work in the creative field, but "What the hell else am I going to do?" loomed large. There was nothing else I felt drawn to as a career, and going back to school was out of the question. Because it would cost money and because any other fields of study seemed to require actual studying, class attendance, taking tests, and writing papers. I can possibly do those things exactly once if a gun were put to my head. But my ADHD would rather not.

One weekday in January of 2023, I was scrolling through Facebook, and I read a post from a high school classmate that stopped me and stood me still. His sister, who was only a year older than us, had written a post saying that she had just been diagnosed with a rare and brutal stomach cancer, Stage 4, and that she wouldn't be doing any treatment.

There was no cure and she didn't want to spend the rest of her life undergoing what horrible options were available. She mentioned spending her time learning about art and how to make a charcuterie plate, and she asked that people respect her decision and that nobody reach out to her about any alternative therapies or methods that would allegedly prolong her life. You could pray for her if you wanted, but that was it. She had decided to accept death and to go on her terms.

Badass.

That's all I could think. Badass. I'd never read or heard anything quite like that. My second thought was I should reach out and go paint with her, but then my third thought was "That's dumb. Am I supposed to be like, 'Hey, remember when we were in biology together in high school? Do you want to paint with me as you're dying?'" So I didn't. I just kept thinking about it.

When I finally got up the guts to ask, I first asked her brother if he thought she'd be down to paint, but it was too late. "That's so sweet of you Sarah, but she's near to Jesus now." She had slipped into unconsciousness the day before, and died a couple of days later.

Damn.

Never question those ideas that come into your mind, no matter how dumb they sound. If you're coming from a sincere place, the worst thing that can happen is that they say, "No thanks" and there's nothing harmful about "No thanks."

I didn't flog myself for this missed opportunity. That, too, is a waste. Instead I applied to be a volunteer with Hospice Austin and went through training a few months later. Out of a room of maybe 20 volunteers, most were there to give back because Hospice Austin had provided such incredible service to their family member. There were probably only a couple of us who were there because we genuinely loved being with people who were sick or dying. I don't just love it, it actually makes me feel happy and wide-open and alive. I know that people like us are incredibly rare.

All while growing up and continuing into adulthood, I have gravitated toward nursing homes and hospitals and funerals. The conversations I've had in those spaces have been deeply impactful – very raw and very vulnerable. It's the space where truth lives. I know visits are so important to people in those places but I feel equally rewarded. If you're pursuing treatment or not pursuing treatment, if you believe in a God or don't, if you were kind of an asshole in middle school when I didn't even know you or you weren't – none of that matters to me. Your life matters, you are an interesting person, and you have a story to tell.

This is how I'm using my creativity now. To help people navigate the end of this life in a way that empowers them and honors their wishes and helps them tie up loose ends, so that they may be able to go peacefully.