Hey…I’ve thinking about death lately.

I come by it honestly. I’m a gerontologist.

Even more than that, a colleague has been organizing some death cafes (Google it if you’re interested) in our community. I have been fortunate to attend a couple.

I’ve also talked to a good friend quite a bit recently. She lost her husband to dementia a year ago. And, amongst the many others feelings she may have felt when he died, she felt relief.

People don’t like to acknowledge that the death of a loved one brings relief.

But often it does. And acknowledging that it does is okay.

Let’s normalize this. Sometimes death brings relief.

That doesn’t mean it doesn’t bring sadness. Or anger. Or bitterness. Or a million other things.

It is normal if relief is hanging out with all those other feelings.

You don’t have to feel guilt for that relief. Or shame. Or embarrassment.

Relief is a completely valid response to death.

I felt relief when my dad died.

Relief for him because he was experiencing fear and distress in the days before he died.

Relief for my partner because he had been part of those sleepless nights and was debating if he should go on an upcoming work trip to Kosovo if I was still in caregiving mode.

But also—-

Relief for me because I was tired.

Relief for me because I was stressing about how I could possibly keep asking my team at work to cover everything I typically did.

I also felt sad, cheated, grateful, and loved. If I were a wine, I’d say I also had notes of bitterness and joy with a not-so-delightful aftertaste of jealousy. It was a complex flavor. But whatever.

Whatever you feel at death is okay. If someone asks how you are, it’s okay to say relieved. It’s also okay to say you’re happy, tired, pissed off, and/or hungry.

I was at a funeral once and hugged the spouse. I said “How are you?” She said thirsty. It was as valid of a response as anything.

But she apologized later for her response and told me she was devastated by her husband’s death. It’s like she couldn’t let me leave thinking that her current state was primarily thirsty.

I was thankful she had told me she was thirsty. I had walked to a convenience store across the street and bought her a Gatorade.

Devastated? I don’t know how to help. Thirsty? I got your back.

After a loved one’s death, you get to be thirsty.

Or relieved.