Bevival

Death literacy coming to a theater near you.

I am now face to face with dying, but I am not finished with living- Oliver Sacks

After 2025 delivered unprecedented personal heartbreak alongside brief, luminous moments of joy I never imagined I’d be writing this update. On December 30, I received a phone call that stopped me cold. “I’m very sorry to tell you that you have stage IV pancreatic cancer that has metastasized to your liver.” In a single sentence, I went from a vital, healthy 71-year-old emerging from a year of grief to someone suddenly facing a finite timeline. Anger rose. Not fair!!! New Year’s passed without celebration. In the days that followed, I drove + screamed—at the heavens, passing cars, our corrupt elected officials, and my primary care doctor. (Given that malpractice is a rabbit hole best left to lawyers, I’ll simply say if you happen to know a good NJ attorney, please pass their name along. Now, it's been just over a year since loss moved me into deep reflection. In the aftermath, I lost my capacity to continue nurturing conversations around death literacy. Companioning my husband was all tactics and procedure—there was no room to process the emotional weight. At the same time, our family was witnessing the final days of our beloved dog Cooper. All that sorrow unfolded as my daughter entered her final trimester—new life emerging amid so much heartache.

When I launched Bevival 10 years ago, my goal was to introduce death literacy into our culture and common lexicon. Through educational events grounded in storytelling, we created entry points into difficult, stigmatized conversations—and a pathway toward social change. Over time, the conversation grew. Nonprofits, doctors, doulas, educators, and many adjacent professionals stepped forward to share their knowledge and commitment to improving the end-of-life experience, long before the end. Stepping back in 2025 actually allowed me to see my original goal had been met and that it was time to pass the torch. Finding a successor to guide Bevival into its next chapter was my plan for '26. So if the idea of leading Bevival into the future resonates with you please email me asap. To everyone else, thank you for believing in our mission.

You know I just had to order your fav, make a toast on our 27th. Hopelessly romantic.

Excited to present Alex Halpern's award-winning documentary about his fiercely independent 102-year-old grandmother.

LA Times called this delightfully entertaining and revealing portrait of the family's feisty matriarch "Vibrant. A celebration of a life that has been lived to the fullest."

Post-screening discussion with Alex Halpern and Caren Martineau. May 18th, 2pm Orpheum Theatre, Saugerties.

This Celebrating Aging screening is sponsored by Upstate Films. Tickets: https://upstatefilms.org/nine-good-teeth-close-up-w-alex-halpern

Having discarded countless drafts over the years, one might think I had a coherent summary of my husband’s life at the ready. Not so. While our love story is both entertaining and complicated—I’ll start at the end, when death became the third member of our household.

The diagnosis was terminal. How long? he asked. “Hard to say,” the doctors replied. “We’ve got lots of options.” An answer that, paradoxically, made space for the benevolent truth of death literacy. Rather than becoming imprisoned by fear and denial, our conversations grew remarkably intimate and transparent, illuminating every facet of our lives.

In the ever-shifting landscape of disease, we often spoke about what it meant to have a “good death.” But when each new breakthrough treatment hinted at remission, his athletic body—instinctively, defiantly—embraced every challenge.

Of course, nothing ever unfolds quite as planned. As Michael’s gradual decline replaced the hope of grace with the reality of suffering, I was determined to avoid the tragic emotional chaos that so often clouds the end.

A few days after Christmas, I saw the scans. Those images, along with his diminished agency, made it heartbreakingly clear: it was time to stop the cruel, pointless assault on his withering body. After two grueling months of well-intentioned, best-in-class interventions, the decision had to be his. He needed to make the call, tell the doctors he was ready for hospice.

“Goodbyes are only for those who love with their eyes. Because for those who love with heart and soul, there is no such thing as separation.” —Sufi proverb

On January 10th, we transferred him to an oasis-like hospice in NJ where he received palliative care. It was a gift—one that granted the closure we all so desperately wanted and needed.

Michael died on February 2nd. Several days later, we held his green burial where everyone pointed to the hawks circling overhead.

Ironically, the strange isolation of fresh grief coexists with the joyous anticipation of welcoming our first grandchild.

Multiple Myeloma is a cancer without cure. Much gratitude goes out to the extraordinary care our MSK oncologists and their groundbreaking treatments made, for they gave him time— nearly ten years.

Looking back now, any regrets or considerations I might have had along the way were inconsequential, and frankly wouldn’t have changed the outcome. Time allowed me/us to become comfortable living with the uncertainty of illness, honoring the bargain one makes when buying time. But even the strongest of will cannot hold off the inevitable. After years of defying the odds, my husband entered hospice a week ago.

We sit in the stillness of waiting. It's a fragile, liminal space that's untethered from our individual and coupled routines. Something words simply can’t capture as I/we toggle between sorrow and grace.

As a death literacy advocate and educator, I’ve seen all sides of the ending of life transaction (good, bad and ugly). I've also had the great privilege of helping many navigate the terrain. Even with all that in my toolbox, this moment is as uncomfortable as it gets. Watching someone you love confront the reality of their own dying is profoundly disquieting.

What I know for sure is that the journey would have been far more devastating had I/we not done the hard work along the way. Engaging in uncomfortable conversations, digging deep to unearth hard truths and life's challenges.

This post isn’t just a marker of my personal journey but an invitation to make space now to do the uncomfortable. Say what needs to be said. Live as boldly as you can possibly imagine. The grief will come regardless, but it's a bit less constricting when it arrives unencumbered. ❤️

It's a Wrap - A film by Amit Miller and Miri Urman (Trailer) Grandma Haya decides to stop eating, stop taking her medication, and begins organizing her farewell party from life. Her friends and family try to dissuade h...

My personal backstory revealed https://mailchi.mp/bevival/july-6415324

Fascinating new podcast https://www.bevival.com/exit-interview/exit-interview-mark-dowie www.bevival.com

Mark Dowie-Judith Letting Go Personal agency and the right to choose.

In our latest Exit Interview, Jade Adgate .farewell.library speaks with about her work as a community doula, death literacy advocate, and the value of death journaling. Listen to their conversation on Bevival and your fav podcast platform.