Death as a Compass, Not an Ending

In the week after my 50th birthday, I find myself thinking about death.
Not with fear.
Not with finality.
But with curiosity.
With reverence.
With presence.

And I began to wonder:
What would my kids remember about me?

So I asked.
And here’s what my daughters said:

  • Selflessness. Brave. Strong.

  • Strength. Integrity. Tranquil.

  • The most enlightened person we know.

  • Our mobile Dalai Lama.

  • Everyone comes to you when they need help—with anything.

  • You make it safe for people—cousins, friends, strangers.

  • You love things that aren’t lovable. (Even the problem dogs. Especially the problem dogs.)

  • Master Oogway.

Their words landed in that tender space between laughter and tears.
Not because I needed to hear them, but because they confirmed something deeper:
That the intention I live (my life) with is leaving an impact that mirrors it.

And it made me ask more questions…

We talk so often about our trauma, our struggles, our mess.
But when do we reflect on what we loved?
On what we did well?
On the lives we touched, just by being who we are?

When do we let ourselves hear the eulogy before the funeral?

If that makes you cringe, pause for a moment—
This isn’t about ego.
It’s about alignment.
It’s about checking in: Is how I’m living reflecting what I care about most?
And if not, what do I want to shift—now, while I still can?

Because here’s what no one says when someone dies:

They never say,
“She made a lot of money.”
“She had a really big house.”
“She was successful.”

They say,
“She made me feel seen.”
“She showed up.”
“She made space for healing.”
“She loved well.”

So yes—I’m looking forward to death.

Not because I want to die,
But because I want to live with death at my side.
As a compass. A companion. A call to presence.

From here on out, I want to treat every day like it could be my last.
Every conversation like it could be the final one.
Every moment like it could be a legacy.

Because it might be.

So I’ll ask you now, with love and clarity:

What are you looking forward to?
What would your eulogy say—if you wrote it today?

And how would you live differently if you let that guide you?

ArticlesDarla Beam