What if you had two weeks left to live?
Reflecting on What Really Matters in the Face of Change
This past weekend, we gathered around my love’s father at a long-term hospice care home. With exhaustion behind each heartbreaking breath, he shared with us that he would be ending his fast-progressing and painful battle with ALS, choosing the MAID service before it takes his ability to breathe and swallow.
The room fell silent.
The reality of how quickly life can change hit us all, a sudden shift that leaves its mark and slices through your heart.
The heartbreak of knowing there's so much life ahead of him, yet no choice to stay, to fight, or to enjoy the simplest, most meaningful pleasures. No more being at home with his love and pets. No more riding his motorcycle. No more witnessing the young people in the room grow up. No more making it to 61.
Some moments in life leave us no choice but to surrender—to let it rock us completely.
“I’m going to miss you,” a tear slipping down his face.
“I’m going to miss you. We love you. I love you. I’m sorry.”
“Nothing to be sorry about. I love you. Forever. Thank you.”
As I held Sommer and my partner held Myla, tears flowing, silently acknowledging the sorrow, we all felt it.
We had a sense this day might come, but no one imagined it would come so fast. From him helping drive the Uhaul to our new home this spring, visiting us this summer, cracking jokes and helping me fish my phone out of the rocks at the beach, to hearing of his back injury in November, to seeing him unable to walk in December, to the ALS diagnosis in January—and now, the end only weeks away.
It humbles you.
Gut-punch after gut-punch, reminding us how precious life is. How precious being alive is. How precious family, community, friends, and those simple daily pleasures truly are.
Yesterday, while grilling sandwiches for breakfast, I turned to my partner.
“I’m so sad for all the moments your Dad won’t be here for,” I said. “I was hoping he’d walk with me when we get married one day.”
My partner replied, “I’ve been thinking about that too. I can’t go there yet, or I won’t be able to function.” We agreed to schedule a time to process the grief ahead, but for now, we simply held each other.
Amid the heartbreak, we’ve also witnessed silver linings—blessings and important reminders about what truly matters. We’ve been given the gift of foresight, knowing how much time we have left to say everything that needs to be said.
We’ve learned how to support one another through devastating, inevitable life moments—losing a parent, big injuries, supporting each other and the kids through the passage of life and death. We’ve breathed deeper, appreciating each breath we can take. We’ve savored each bite of food, each moment of movement. We’ve expressed our gratitude and held each other tighter.
Watched the wind blow, observed the snow melt, and witnessed the birds return.
There are gifts all around us, even now.
Rituals and small joys that have been holding me lately:
Tending to our newborn chicks, currently in a nursery brooder in the corner of our room. (Soft, cute chick cuddles & ASMR—has been so comforting)
Morning hikes through three feet of snow to tend to our chickens.
Catching up with creative friends and collaborating with a designer on my book’s cover art.
Starting a fire, tending to our wood stove, collecting firewood, and stoking the fire to heat the house.
Hot long baths with the galaxy projector light on.
Watching the new season of White Lotus on Sunday evenings.
Video games with the family (Mario Kart, Donkey Kong, and Stray).
Exploring a cute tavern nearby called Heart’s for a tapas lunch with friends (we haven’t been out much lately, except for trips to the hospital).
Participating in an astrology ritual night for the Leo New Moon hosted by
.Signed up for
’s Venus Rx masterclass for March, which centers around the themes of my upcoming book—feeling like a perfect way to align with the expansive energy I desire for this spring.
Some questions I’ve been pondering:
What if I had two weeks left to live? What would I stop focusing on and prioritize instead? Is there anything I need to express or do now?
How can I reframe chores as movement and enjoyment? How can I embrace sticky emotions, dance, cry, laugh, and let my body lead me where it needs to go?
How can I give myself permission to be flexible and make changes when things shift that impact my plans? Life happens—let it. Edit as you go. Literally.
Be sad when you feel sad, be joyful when you feel joy—don’t hide any of it. Embrace it all and use it to fuel your creativity.
Update on Dip Your Life in Pleasure (DYLIP):
I’ve received so much love and support for the first two modules of Dip Your Life in Pleasure—thank you for being with me on this journey. Due to the recent shifts in family life, I’ve had to adjust the release schedule for the remaining modules.
The next modules, focusing on the pleasure frequency, creative flow, self-pleasure, abundance, and working differently, will be released in March. I truly appreciate your patience and understanding as I navigate this tender time. If you’re already signed up, know that the next pieces are coming your way soon.
In the meantime, feel free to explore the first two modules that are available instantly when you join The Ritual Room.
As I sit with this heartache, I am reminded of the importance of honoring our own fleeting moments. Life, with all its turns, its trials, and its triumphs, is the most precious thing we have. I’ve learned that no matter how difficult it gets, there is still power in breathing deeply, savoring what’s around us, and leaning into the rituals that sustain us through it all.
Thank you for sharing this space with me. I’m here, breathing deeply, savoring every moment, and feeling it all. And if you’re walking a similar journey of transformation, know that you’re not alone.
Let’s breathe, feel, and create—together
This is so tough. Sending you folks so much love ❤️ thank you for being so vulnerable and sharing your tender heart’s insights.
Sending you so much love angel 💙