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    If I Should Get Dementia: What Choices Do I Have?

    An Educational & Reflective Guide for Individuals and Families Navigating Dementia and End‑of‑Life Planning

     
    Dementia is a diagnosis that reshapes not only a person’s future, but often their sense of identity, autonomy, and agency. According to current estimates, more than seven million Americans live with Alzheimer’s disease, with an additional million experiencing other forms of dementia. That is roughly equivalent to the population of the state of Washington. For most, dementia is progressive and, at this time, incurable.
     
    But early dementia is a unique moment—a window in which individuals still have decisional capacity, autonomy, and the ability to shape their future care. This period also raises profound questions: How do I want to live? How do I want to decline? How do I want to die?
    As a Transitioning Doula, I hold space for these questions every day. This blog offers an educational and reflective exploration of the choices available, grounded in compassion and respect for personal values.

    Living With Early Dementia: The Capacity to Choose

    In the early stages, many people continue to function well, recognize their loved ones, participate in meaningful activities, and engage in decision‑making. Yet they also carry the knowledge that their personality, memory, and sense of self may eventually fade.
    For some, the thought of living into deep dementia—unable to recognize family or engage in the world—is more frightening than the thought of death. This is where planning becomes essential.

    Three Paths of Choice

    When facing dementia, individuals often consider three broad pathways. Each reflects different values: preserving autonomy, avoiding prolonged decline, or allowing the natural progression of the disease without prolonging life.

    1. Choosing to Die Before Losing Capacity

    Some individuals decide not to live past the point where they can no longer make decisions. Two methods are commonly chosen:
     

    Voluntarily Stopping Eating and Drinking (VSED)

    VSED involves intentionally stopping all food and fluid intake. The process usually lasts from several days to two weeks. It is legal everywhere in the U.S. and requires no assistance from others—which is why it remains an option even in states where aid‑in‑dying is restricted.
     

    Inhaling an Inert Gas

    A faster method involving minutes rather than days. Final Exit Network (FEN) provides information on this, but because direct contact with FEN is sensitive, anyone wishing to explore this may reach out through www.transitioningdoula.com, and I will guide them appropriately without violating any laws or boundaries.
     
    Reflection:
    This first option can mean sacrificing years of meaningful life to avoid the loss of self that dementia brings—a deeply personal tradeoff.

    2. Choosing to Limit Medical Treatment After Capacity Is Lost

    Many people choose to allow dementia to progress naturally while ensuring no medical intervention artificially prolongs life. This is commonly done through:
    • A traditional advance directive
    • A healthcare proxy or representative
    • Clear instructions such as “If I suffer cardiac arrest, do not resuscitate.”
    This approach is widely accepted legally. It allows individuals to live until their body naturally declines while avoiding burdensome interventions that may extend life but not quality.

    3. Stopping Eating and Drinking by Advance Directive (SED by AD)

    This is the most legally complex and emotionally charged path.
    Here, a person states in advance that, once they reach deep dementia, their chosen representative should stop offering food and fluids—even by mouth—allowing death through dehydration.
    The legality varies:
    • Allowed: Nevada, Vermont, Arizona
    • Not allowed: Iowa
    • Unclear: 46 states fall into a gray zone where laws neither clearly permit nor prohibit it.
      Questions hinge on whether food and fluids are considered “medical treatment.” Some legal scholars say yes; some physicians say no.
    This pathway requires deep reflection, careful documentation, a prepared healthcare representative, and early action while decisional capacity remains.

    Why Preparation Matters—And Why It Must Begin Early

    People with early dementia still have the power to choose—but only for a limited time.
    Once decisional capacity is lost:
    • You can no longer sign an advance directive.
    • You can no longer choose VSED yourself.
    • You may no longer qualify for programs such as Final Exit Network’s Exit Guide services.
    Preparation is not a commitment to any specific path. It is simply preserving options for your future self—options you may or may not ever choose to use.

    Advance Directives for Dementia

    A dementia‑specific directive can:
    • State how you want to be cared for at each stage of decline
    • Protect your future self from prolonged suffering
    • Clarify your wishes around VSED
    • Support your healthcare representative in making difficult decisions
    Organizations like FEN have created several dementia directives. If you or someone you care about wants support choosing or completing one, I invite you to reach out through www.transitioningdoula.com, and I will personally help guide the process.

    Options for Hastening Death When Facing Dementia or Decline

    While still competent, several options exist. After losing decisional capacity, only a few remain. Here is a simplified educational overview:

    1. Stop Therapeutic Medical Treatment

    Refuse any treatment aimed at extending life while continuing to receive comfort‑focused care.

    2. Voluntarily Stop Eating and Drinking (VSED)

    Can be done personally while competent, or instructed through a dementia directive for later.

    3. Medical Aid in Dying (MAID) – U.S.

    Available only in certain states and only for those expected to live less than six months. Each state's requirements differ.

    4. Medical Aid in Dying – Switzerland

    More accessible but costly and requires travel and planning.

    5. Books on End‑of‑Life Self‑Deliverance

    Educational resources exist, such as Final Exit 2020 and The Peaceful Pill Handbook—but these are tools of information, not instruction.

    6. Final Exit Network’s Exit Guide Program

    For those who qualify, FEN provides education, not physical assistance.
    Anyone interested can begin the conversation confidentially through www.transitioningdoula.com, and I will assist in navigating next steps.

    A Doula’s Reflection: Honoring Autonomy, Preserving Dignity

    As an end‑of‑life doula, I often meet people who fear dementia more than death. They fear losing their story, their relationships, their very sense of “I.”
    The options outlined here are not about choosing death—they are about choosing how to live through decline, how to honor what matters most, and how to allow the final chapter of life to reflect one’s values.
    If you or someone you care about has early dementia, please know:
    • You do have choices
    • You are not alone
    • And planning now can be one of the most compassionate gifts you give to your future self and your loved ones
    I am here to support, educate, and walk with you through these conversations. Visit www.transitioningdoula.com to take the next step with someone who understands.

    Marc D Malamud

    Transitioning Doula

     

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    At Home With Death

    What a Home Funeral Is and How Funeral Homes Can Show Up

    Jess

    By Jess Wakefield

     

     

    A home funeral is not a rejection of funeral service. It is a return to an older, quieter way of caring for the dead, one that centers family presence, time, and responsibility. In a home funeral, the body remains in the care of the family from the time of death until disposition, if possible. Loved ones wash and dress the body, keep vigil, and say goodbye in their own space, on their own timeline, before burial, cremation, or another form of disposition takes place.

    For many families, this choice is rooted in values rather than cost. They want intimacy instead of efficiency. They want participation instead of delegation. They want to slow down a process that modern life often rushes. Home funerals offer a way to be present with death without immediately handing that presence over to an institution. When done legally and thoughtfully, they can be profoundly grounding and meaningful.

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    Photo by DEAD GOOD LEGACIES on Unsplash

    Funeral homes sometimes view home funerals as something outside their lane. That framing misses the point. A home funeral does not eliminate the need for professional guidance. It changes where and how that guidance shows up. Families navigating a home funeral still face legal requirements, logistical decisions, transportation needs, and paperwork that can feel overwhelming during acute grief. This is where funeral professionals can play a critical and supportive role.

    Support does not require control. Funeral homes can assist with filing death certificates, obtaining permits, coordinating disposition, providing refrigeration or dry ice guidance when appropriate, and offering consultation on after-death care without taking custody of the body. They can explain timelines, legal boundaries, and options clearly, without pressure. They can act as educators and collaborators, honoring the family’s choice while ensuring safety, compliance, and dignity.

    When funeral homes support home funerals, they reinforce a deeper truth about the profession. The work is not about owning every step of the process. It is about walking alongside families in the ways they ask to be supported. A profession confident in its value does not fear shared care. It recognizes that presence, knowledge, and respect are often the most important services we provide.

     

    Legal framing: what the law actually requires

    Home funerals are legal in all 50 U.S. states, and in most states families are not required to hire a funeral director (there are 9 states that do require a funeral director) in order to care for their dead at home prior to disposition. There is no federal law that mandates immediate transfer of the body to a funeral home after death, there is a timeline for how long they may remain without disposition or refrigeration. What varies by state is not the legality of a home funeral, but whether a licensed funeral director must complete specific administrative or legal tasks, such as filing the death certificate or obtaining burial or cremation permits. In a small number of states, a funeral director must serve as the party of record for disposition, even when the family is otherwise providing care.

    This requirement does not prohibit a home funeral. It simply defines the scope of professional involvement. Across all states, families must still comply with pronouncement of death, required documentation, permit timelines, and public health standards. In practice, home funerals operate as shared care, with funeral professionals supporting legal and logistical needs without necessarily assuming custody of the body.

    The confusion arises when legality is conflated with familiarity. Many funeral directors were never trained on home funerals in mortuary school, which can create the false impression that they are illegal or inherently risky. They are neither. They are simply less common in modern practice. When funeral homes understand the actual legal framework, they are better positioned to offer calm, accurate information instead of defaulting to refusal or fear-based messaging.

    What ethical support from a funeral home can look like

    Supporting a home funeral does not mean stepping away from professional responsibility. It means redefining how that responsibility is expressed.

    Funeral homes can ethically offer:

    • Consultation and education on after-death care, timelines, and what families should expect physically and emotionally
    • Filing of death certificates and coordination with certifiers and registrars
    • Securing burial or cremation permits and explaining disposition requirements
    • Guidance on cooling methods, including refrigeration options or dry ice use, without assuming custody
    • Transportation to the place of disposition when the family is ready
    • Use of preparation room facilities for dressing or preparation if requested by the family
    • Clear, itemized pricing for support services rather than bundled packages that assume full control

    These services honor both the family’s autonomy and the funeral home’s professional role. They allow families to remain present while ensuring the process remains legal, safe, and dignified.

     

    Addressing common fears within the profession

    Many funeral directors hesitate to support home funerals because of fear, not opposition.

    Common concerns include liability, loss of control, fear of doing something wrong, or worry that supporting home funerals will undermine the value of professional service. These fears are understandable, but they are not insurmountable.

    Liability is managed through clear documentation, defined scope of service, and informed consent, just as it is in any other arrangement. Loss of control is not the same as loss of professionalism. In fact, offering support without custody often reflects a higher level of confidence and ethical clarity. As for value, families who choose home funerals are not rejecting funeral homes. They are choosing a different form of relationship with them.

    Funeral service has always adapted to cultural shifts in how families want to grieve and participate. Home funerals are part of that continuum, not a threat to it. When funeral directors approach them with curiosity instead of resistance, they expand both their relevance and their trust within the community.

     

    Showing up differently does not diminish the profession

    Funeral service has never been static. It has always changed in response to how families understand death, responsibility, and care. Home funerals are not a rebellion against the profession. They are a reminder of its roots and an invitation to practice with greater flexibility and trust.

    The question is not whether funeral homes should “allow” home funerals. The question is whether we are willing to meet families where they are, even when that place looks different from what we were trained to manage. Professionalism is not defined by possession of the body. It is defined by knowledge, steadiness, and ethical presence.

    When funeral homes choose to support home funerals, they demonstrate confidence rather than fear. They show that their value lies in guidance, not control. They affirm that families are capable of care when given clear information and respectful support. This does not weaken funeral service. It strengthens it.

    There is room in this profession for shared care, and there always has been. Funeral homes do not lose relevance when families choose to stay close to their dead. They lose relevance when they refuse to adapt. Showing up differently is not a concession. It is a decision to lead with clarity, confidence, and respect. When funeral professionals support home funerals, they affirm that their role is not to control the experience of death, but to protect its dignity while honoring the family’s right to participate in it.

     Marc D Malamud

    Transitioning Doula

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    🍽️ When Death Shows Up for Dinner: A Doula’s Perspective on the Conversations That Matter Most

    “Death doesn’t need an invitation — it’s already on the guest list. So we might as well talk about it between the appetizers and the dessert.”
    We host a lot of conversations about dying — in living rooms, in hospital rooms, at kitchen tables sticky with the familiar mess of life. But recently, we decided to go bigger.
    We set a table.
    We lit candles.
    We put out real plates, because death deserves more than paper goods.
    And we invited the kinds of guests who always seem to be in the room anyway — the ones most people pretend not to see. The ones we, as end‑of‑life doulas, spend our days gently introducing.
    It started like any dinner party: people sitting down, glancing around, trying to guess where this whole thing is heading. And then someone cleared their throat in the kind of way that makes everyone look up.
     
     

    “Let’s be honest,” the voice said. “You were expecting me.”

    We turned toward the far end of the table.
    A tall figure in a simple black cloak sat there — still, steady, and unbothered by the awkward silence it had just created.
    We didn’t introduce Death.
    Death introduced itself.
    Not scary. Not dramatic.
    Just… present.
    Exactly the way it is for all of us, always — uninvited and unavoidable, yet somehow completely appropriate at a dinner themed around truth-telling.
     

    Then another voice chimed in — softer, calm, like a breeze sneaking through the door.

    “We’re all transitioning,” it said. “Some of us are just closer to the edge.”
    This was the Angel of Death — not the flaming-sword variety, but the quiet companion that shows up when bodies soften, breath changes, and thresholds draw near. The presence so many people feel but don’t have a name for.
    Not a force.
    A symbol.
    A reminder that dying is a journey, not a failure.
     

    From across the table, someone snorted. Actually snorted.

    “Closer to the edge? Honey, I’ve been dangling off that edge for months, and I’m still here. Pass the potatoes.”
    We turned toward the speaker — a composite of every patient who has ever made us laugh harder than we expected to in the last chapter of life.
    We never use real people.
    But this figure carries their spirit:
    • The man who planned his funeral playlist like a DJ set.
    • The woman who said death could wait until she finished Season 6.
    • The caregiver who whispered, “If he doesn’t stop snoring, I swear I’ll die first.”
    This character — this teacher — represents the courage, chaos, and comedy that real dying humans generously share.
     

    And then, from the opposite end of the table, came a familiar, theatrical sigh.

    “Tradition, tradition… you know, even in my village, people eventually stopped pretending they were immortal.”
    We looked over.
    Of course.

    Tevye.
    Straight out of Sholem Aleichem’s world, apron and all, shrugging at the absurdity of being human. A literary guest with wisdom tucked under his cap and humor tucked under his faith.
    He leaned in and wagged a finger at Death.
    “Nu? You couldn’t at least bring dessert?”
    Death did not reply, but if a cloak could look sheepish… this one did.

    🍷 And so the conversation began

    It wasn’t ghost stories or dramatic proclamations.
    It was everything we wish more families talked about — across tables, over tea, in moments that matter.
     

    Death asked:

    “Why is everyone so afraid to say my name?”
    We nodded — because this is the truth we see every day.
    People whisper “passed away” or “lost” or “gone home,” as if the word died might crack the floor.
     

    The Angel asked:

    “What would happen if we softened around fear instead of tightening?”
    That’s our heart’s work as doulas.
    We don’t erase fear — we sit beside it until it stops shouting.
     

    Our patient‑composite asked:

    “Why didn’t anyone tell me talking about death could actually feel… relieving?”
    Because no one prepares us for this.
    Not emotionally.
    Not practically.
    Not culturally.
    But when we talk honestly, something loosens.
    Faces soften.
    Shoulders drop.
    People breathe again.
     

    Tevye asked:

    “What are you all so afraid of — the dying, or the talking about dying?”
    And that one landed.
    Hard.
    Because if we’re honest, silence often hurts more than truth ever could.

    🍲 Why we host these conversations

    Because dying doesn’t just happen in hospital beds or hospice rooms.
    It happens around kitchen tables.
    In whispered questions.
    In unspoken fears.
    In families who love each other deeply but don’t know how to begin.
    We’ve seen again and again that talking about death doesn’t bring it closer —
    but avoiding it often brings unnecessary suffering.
    So we create spaces — literal or metaphorical — where these conversations can unfold with humor, honesty, and the kind of steadiness people need when they’re scared.

    🌙 And here’s what we know for sure:

    • When Death speaks plainly, people exhale.
    • When the Angel speaks gently, fear softens.
    • When the wisdom of our patients enters the room, love deepens.
    • When Tevye shrugs, everyone laughs — because sometimes laughter is the only way the heart can stay open.
    • And when we, as a company, sit beside you through all of it,
      you learn something powerful:
    You are not doing this alone.
    Not ever.
    Not for one moment.

    🍰 And as we cleared the table, Tevye raised his glass and said what we were all thinking:

    “Some people talk politics at dinner. We prefer something less controversial — like death.”

      

    Marc D Malamud

    Transitioning Doula

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    The Environmental Cost of Death Care

    Jess

    By Jess Wakefield

     

     

    The funeral industry has a waste problem, and it is far bigger than most people realize. For a profession rooted in care, dignity, and community responsibility, we generate an astonishing amount of trash, chemical waste, and single-use consumption in the course of serving families. Much of this waste never enters the public eye, because families are rarely exposed to the operational back rooms where the work is done. They see the arrangement conference, the chapel, the service, and the polished professionalism. What they do not see is the volume of waste created in the name of cleanliness, safety, efficiency, and liability control.

    The uncomfortable reality is that modern funeral service often treats death as something disposable, and the methods we use to manage risk, control odor, manage trauma, and create “sanitary” conditions frequently rely on materials and practices that are neither sustainable nor environmentally neutral. While parts of this are genuinely rooted in public health and infection control, the industry also hides behind those rationales to excuse systems that are driven by habit, convenience, and outdated operational norms. If we claim we are in the business of ethical care, we cannot ignore the environmental cost of our practices simply because the waste happens behind closed doors.

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    Photo by Katie Rodriguez on Unsplash

    One of the most visible contributors to this problem is the enormous reliance on single-use plastics and personal protective equipment. Gloves, masks, gowns, sleeves, shoe covers, disposable aprons, and plastic sheets are used constantly, and often in quantities that would shock anyone outside the field. There are clear situations in which PPE is necessary and non-negotiable, particularly when dealing with trauma, infectious disease risk, or high fluid exposure. However, it is also true that many funeral homes have shifted toward a default of maximum PPE for nearly every touch point, including situations where proper hand hygiene, risk assessment, and washable barrier systems could reduce waste without compromising safety. In many operations, disposable gloves become a reflex rather than a measured decision, and once that culture takes hold, waste becomes inevitable.

    Linens and textiles represent another major waste stream that does not receive enough scrutiny. Some firms still rely on washable sheets, towels, and cloths, but many operations, especially high-volume cremation providers and corporate locations have moved toward disposable alternatives. Even washable linens frequently get discarded after traumatic cases, not necessarily because regulations demand it, but because staff are overwhelmed and the labor of processing, disinfecting, and laundering becomes too heavy to manage. The problem is not that funeral professionals do not care; the problem is that the industry runs chronically understaffed, and under those conditions, disposability becomes the easiest pressure valve. When time is scarce and exhaustion is constant, waste becomes a shortcut for survival.

    Embalming introduces an even more serious layer of environmental harm, because this is not only about landfill waste but about chemical exposure and discharge. Formaldehyde-based embalming fluids remain widely used, and the funeral profession has historically treated embalming as a default practice rather than a situational choice. Yet embalming is not an environmentally neutral act. It involves the use of toxic chemicals and solvents, and it creates downstream impacts through wastewater discharge and contaminated materials. This is not a moral accusation against embalmers, as I too am a licensed embalmer; it is a systems reality that the industry must face honestly. If funeral service wants to claim leadership in sustainability and ethical care, it cannot continue to treat formaldehyde exposure and routine chemical use as a minor operational detail. There are alternatives emerging, including lower-toxicity fluids and newer preservation technologies, but adoption remains slow because tradition is deeply entrenched and because funeral education has not consistently kept pace with innovation.

    Cremation is often framed as a cleaner, simpler, or more eco-friendly option, but that framing hides an increasingly industrial reality. Modern cremation is a volume-driven process that relies heavily on packaging and single-use materials. Cardboard containers, plastic coverings, liners, tags, temporary urns, adhesives, and protective barriers generate constant waste before the cremation even begins. In addition, there is the environmental cost of fuel consumption, energy use, and emissions. This does not mean cremation is inherently “bad,” but it does mean we should stop pretending it is automatically a clean alternative to burial. Cremation’s waste is easier for society to ignore because it feels less tangible than a cemetery plot, but waste that is hidden is still waste.

    Beyond the clinical and operational workflows, the funeral industry also generates enormous waste in its ceremonial and aesthetic elements. Floral foam, plastic liners, ribbons, cellophane, decorative materials, and short-lived event buildouts, and don’t even get me started on balloon releases, all contribute to landfill volume. In many funeral homes, an entire temporary environment is created for a single day and then dismantled and discarded. This is often done with genuine care and sincere intent, because beauty matters and ritual matters. However, it is possible to honor the emotional role of beauty while still acknowledging that our current methods of creating it frequently rely on disposable materials. The industry has not sufficiently challenged itself to ask whether we can maintain beauty without this level of waste.

    None of this exists in a vacuum. The death rate is rising with population growth and aging demographics, and cremation rates have increased dramatically across the United States. At the same time, funeral service has been shifting toward consolidation, corporate models, and high-volume operations designed for speed and scale. Scaling without sustainability is simply industrialization, and industrialization produces more waste. That means the waste problem is not self-correcting. Unless the profession actively intervenes, the funeral industry’s environmental footprint will expand, not shrink.

    If the industry is serious about addressing this, the first requirement is honesty. We need to stop using the language of “green” as a marketing category and start treating sustainability as an operational responsibility. It is not ethical to sell families bamboo urns and biodegradable keepsakes while running an internal workflow that generates pounds of plastic waste daily. The public-facing eco language has outpaced operational reality, and that gap undermines trust.

    From a practical standpoint, change begins by rebuilding washable systems wherever feasible. Washable linens and barrier garments, commercial laundry partnerships, and standardized decontamination workflows can reduce waste meaningfully without compromising hygiene. Disposables should be treated as necessary tools for high-risk situations, not default materials for everyday operations. This is especially important in prep rooms and removal workflows, where risk varies and policies should reflect actual exposure conditions rather than blanket assumptions.

    The profession also needs a more mature conversation about embalming. Embalming will remain appropriate and desired in many contexts, particularly for viewing, extended timelines, or repatriation situations. The problem is not the existence of embalming; the problem is the normalization of routine embalming as a default. Ethical practice requires transparency. Families should understand what embalming is, when it is necessary, and when it is not. As more families choose alternatives such as refrigeration, dry ice, or immediate disposition, the industry should support those choices rather than steering families toward chemicals because it is operationally convenient.

    In addition, funeral homes should reduce unnecessary plastics in ritual spaces and transition away from disposable aesthetic materials where possible. This includes limiting floral foam, choosing sustainable décor practices, and collaborating with floral designers who are trained in foam-free methods. It also includes educating families on sustainable memorial practices without shaming them. Environmental responsibility is not built through guilt; it is built through options, access, and truthful communication.

    Finally, the industry must face the underlying operational driver that fuels much of this waste: chronic understaffing and burnout. Sustainability requires time, training, and the ability to implement thoughtful workflows. If funeral homes run with staffing models that leave professionals exhausted and constantly rushing, then disposability will remain the default because it is the fastest way to move through volume. In that sense, waste is not merely an environmental issue. It is a labor issue. It is a systems issue. It is the predictable outcome of an industry that has been pushed toward production thinking rather than care thinking.

    The funeral profession has long described itself as sacred work, and in many ways it truly is. However, sacred work comes with ethical responsibility, and that responsibility does not stop at the door of the prep room or the dumpster behind the building. If we want to honor the dead while caring for the living, we cannot keep ignoring the ecological consequences of how we operate. We cannot claim community care while externalizing our waste and chemical impacts onto the Earth that holds all of us.

    The funeral industry has a waste problem. The solution begins when we stop pretending it does not.

     Marc D Malamud

    Transitioning Doula

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    The Season That Teaches Us Don’t Skip the In‑Between: Spring, Loss, and the Work of Becoming

    Spring’s Invitation: Don’t Skip the “In‑Between”

    How ritual and community help us honor endings so beginnings can take root
    There’s something about this time of year that quietly insists: life begins again.
    You can see it in the landscape—the branches that looked brittle weeks ago soften with buds; the ground that was locked in frost loosens; the light lingers a little longer at the edge of day. Even if you’re not someone who follows a religious calendar, the season itself feels like a threshold. A turning.
    And thresholds have a way of asking more of us than we expect.
    Because beneath every “new beginning” is a truth we don’t always want to face:
    something ends first.
    Not in a dramatic way, necessarily. Sometimes it’s subtle—an old identity you’ve outgrown, a relationship that can’t return to what it was, a version of yourself that carried you through one chapter but can’t carry you through the next. Sometimes it’s unmistakable—an illness, a death, a diagnosis, a loss that redraws the map of your life overnight.
    We love the idea of renewal. We’re less enthusiastic about the part that comes before it: the waiting, the unraveling, the not‑knowing.
    But that “in‑between” is where meaning often forms.

    Why We Need Ritual When Life Changes

    When people talk about “ritual,” they often think of formal religion. But ritual is bigger than that. Ritual is what humans do when ordinary language isn’t enough.
    Ritual gives shape to what’s shapeless: grief, transition, uncertainty, love.
    In work around death and dying, this is especially clear. When someone dies, the living don’t just lose a person—they lose routines, roles, a sense of future, a shared reality. Many cultures create intentional practices to mark the date of death and its anniversaries, not because grief has an expiration date, but because remembering needs a container. [inelda.org]
    One of the most helpful lines I’ve ever encountered about ceremony is this: “A ceremony offers people an opportunity to release the past, be still in the present, and set intentions for the future.”
    That’s not only true after a death. It’s true after any ending. [inelda.org]
    And it’s one reason seasonal transitions matter. They’re a built‑in reminder that we’re always moving from one state of being into another—even when we can’t yet name what’s next.

    The “In‑Between” Is a Real Place

    Anthropologist Arnold van Gennep described rites of passage as a movement through stages—leaving what was, entering a liminal “in-between,” and then being welcomed into what’s next. In mourning, he wrote, the living and the deceased form a “special group,” positioned between worlds. [inelda.org]
    Whether or not you relate to that language literally, the emotional truth lands:
    grief and change create a liminal space.
    You’re not who you were, but you’re not yet who you’re becoming.
    Modern life doesn’t always honor liminal space. We’re encouraged to “bounce back,” “move on,” “stay positive,” “level up.” We want transformation without disruption—renewal without the mess.
    But liminal space is not a problem to solve.
    It’s a place to inhabit.
    And often, the most compassionate thing we can do—especially for ourselves—is to stop trying to fast‑forward through it.

    When We Rush, We Misread Our Own Grief

    One of the quiet pressures in our culture is the idea that we should arrive at “acceptance” quickly. But grief doesn’t move in a straight line—and neither does the mind.
    Sometimes, what looks like denial is actually the psyche protecting itself. As one grief educator put it, denial can be a healthy, protective response that gives us time to adjust to a reality that would otherwise be too overwhelming all at once. [inelda.org]
    There are also softer forms: focusing on what’s manageable, compartmentalizing, choosing when and with whom you discuss the hard parts. Those aren’t failures. They’re strategies—ways we pace what we can bear. [inelda.org]
    So if you’re in a season of change and you feel like you’re not “doing it right,” consider this:
    Maybe you’re not stuck.
    Maybe you’re staying with what’s true for as long as it needs.

    A Gentle Spring Practice: Make Room for What’s Ending

    If spring is a metaphor for rebirth, it’s also a reminder that rebirth has prerequisites: compost, decay, letting go.
    Here’s a simple, nonreligious ritual you can try this week. You can do it alone, with a partner, or with family.

    The “Compost & Bud” Ritual (10 minutes)

    1) Choose two small containers (two bowls, two cups, or two notes on paper).
    Label one: COMPOST. Label the other: BUDS.
    2) Compost (what’s ending):
    Write down one thing you are ready to release—or one thing that is already ending, even if you didn’t choose it.
    Examples: a role, a habit, a belief, a pace of life, a relationship with certainty, an expectation of how things “should” be.
    3) Buds (what’s emerging):
    Write down one thing you want to nourish. Keep it small and honest.
    Examples: patience, tenderness, courage, a new boundary, a slower rhythm, asking for help, telling the truth.
    4) Witness it:
    Read both lists out loud—yes, even if it feels awkward. (Awkward is often the doorway.)
    Then say one line:
    “I don’t have to rush the middle. I can be here.”
    5) Close with one action:
    Choose one tiny action that supports the “buds” list in the next 24 hours. Keep it realistic.
    That’s it. A small ceremony—release, presence, intention. [inelda.org]

    A Question to Carry

    Here’s the contemplation I’d offer, inspired by the passage you shared:
    If you could move your life forward into something truer—without going back—what would it look like?
    And what might need to end (or be laid down) for that to be possible?
    You don’t have to answer quickly. In fact, you probably shouldn’t.
    Some questions are meant to ripen in the dark.

    In the Spirit of the Holiday Season

    Whether you’re marking this season with family traditions, a quiet walk, a meal around a crowded table, or a moment alone on the porch—consider giving yourself permission to honor the whole arc:
    • the ending
    • the waiting
    • the beginning
    Because renewal isn’t a bypass.

    It’s a transformation.
     
    And transformation asks us to be present—not just for what’s blooming, but for what had to fall away so the bloom could happen.

     

    Marc D Malamud

    Transitioning Doula

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