I’m in the middle of moving right now. Which means I’m surrounded by boxes, stacks of “keep” and “donate”, and way too many moments of wondering, “why on earth did I hold onto this?”
It’s exhausting work- lifting, sorting, making decisions about what still holds value and what it’s time to let go of. But, it’s also nostalgic. Each drawer I open seems to release not just objects but memories. Old birthday cards, metro cards from the Fall I spent in Spain, and the jeans I’ll never quite fit into again. Each one carries a story, a moment of who I was at that time.
And it strikes me- this is so much like what I see in hospice care.
The Work of Letting Go
At the end of life, patients and families are faced with their own “sorting process”. Of course, not necessarily with boxes and belongings, but with stories, relationships and priorities. They ask themselves:
- What memories do I hold the tightest to?
- Which grudges or regrets can I finally let go of?
- What conversations are worth having now, while I still have the chance?
Just like me, sitting on the floor deciding if an old college sweatshirt is worth the space in my new place, families decide what’s worth carrying forward emotionally- and what can be released with peace.
The Nostalgia of a Life Lived
Nostalgia is powerful. As I’ve been flipping through old photo albums (and regretting a few hair / makeup choices), I’ve found myself laughing, crying, and sometimes sitting in quiet awe of the life that’s already been lived.
More than that- I sit in awe of God and where He’s brought me. In hindsight, there’s evidence of Him in every step of the journey. Even in the messy, confusing seasons, I can look back now and see His fingerprints- guiding, protecting, preparing me for what was next.
In hospice, patients often take that same journey. Stories surface. Childhood memories return. People reflect on first loves, career highs, silly traditions, and sacred moments. It’s not about the number of years- it’s about the fullness of the memories which remain. I often find myself reminding families of this- these memories are something which death doesn’t have the power to take away.
The Beauty in Both Processes
Moving reminds me that letting go isn’t a failure- it’s an act of courage. It’s making space for what’s next. Hospice is the same. It’s not about giving up. It’s about choosing comfort, choosing presence, choosing to hold onto the things which matter most as we release what no longer serves us.
So as I tape up these boxes and donate what I no longer need, I’m holding close the reminder that our lives, too, are a beautiful blend of what we keep, what we release, and the stories we tell in the process. And through it all, God is faithful- past, present, and future.
Maybe moving isn’t just about finding a new place. Maybe it’s also about remembering the old, honoring it, and choosing what deserves space in the next chapter. Just like hospice reminds us at the end of life: life is the stories we keep, and in the God who has been with us every step of the way.