Home » Lessons from the Dying: Marie-Jo Cleghorn (Transcript)

Lessons from the Dying: Marie-Jo Cleghorn (Transcript)

Life is about striving to be better, not materialistically, but in ways that add to and don’t take away from our time here. It is because of Carolyn that I do a self-check from time to time. Self-reflection is an ongoing process.

I’m not yet the person I strive to be; I probably never will be. But I hope I’m a better person than when Carolyn knew me.

So I have a question for you: If you die tomorrow, did you make a difference?

Gary was one of my first patients. His wife and him welcomed me into their home. They enjoyed my energy, my youth, my quick wit. I had the privilege of witnessing his spiritual, emotional, and physical struggles. They hid nothing from me; they were bare before me.

Gary would tell me about his wife’s accomplishments; he was proud of her. His wife would tell me about his skill as a lecturer and his secret passion for art. Their walls were covered with his drawings and paintings. Their rooms were bright and vibrant, long before those impact and feature walls.

They would sometimes get frustrated with each other… but who doesn’t? They always found a way to show or tell that they forgave. Their house was filled with love. I don’t remember when there wasn’t a gentle touch, a word, a glance that showed what they meant to each other.

On the day that Gary died, his wife phoned me. I was off. She asked me to come. So I went. It was grade A. Gary had not been responsive for many days. We were truly into comfort care.

I was bathing him when he stopped breathing. I expected him to come back. He said we all needed to say goodbye. He took in a breath.

His wife, his sons, priest, me… we were all in the room. He opened his eyes, he looked at each one of us and then he turned. And he looked at a cross he had designed. The Sun broke through the clouds… he smiled and then he was gone.

I was forever changed. In that moment, I knew I’d chosen the right career, I was doing the right thing and that I could make a difference.

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Gary’s death was the seminal moment of my nursing life. Gary’s gift to me was his legacy of love. He taught me that love is real and it is tangible.

He also taught me about the power of forgiveness. When we forgive, it releases us.


Saying I love you is important. Showing I love you and I care is just as important. It sounds corny but there isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t try and show and tell my family what they mean to me.

And I haven’t kept it to just my family either… strangers, friends, I try and say words like thank you. I try and acknowledge people, show that they mean something to me that they have value, I appreciate them. We are so dismissive, curt. It takes very little energy to be kind, but for the recipient it means everything.

On the flip side are the harsh and angry words that we share. They can bring pain and great division. Gary taught me that when we forgive, we allow both parties to move forward, as hard as it feels. Forgiveness… it will bring you freedom.

There’s a hashtag there. Becca Scofield is a teenager who lives in New Brunswick; you may have heard her. She’d look her up; she’s dying from some form of brain cancer. When she found out she was no longer responding to treatment, she turned to social media. And she asked that people would do a random act of kindness and posted on that hashtag.

Well those acts of kindness have continued, from Australia to Uruguay. Her parents say it brings them comfort to see these messages. They’re preparing to lose a child. Becca has made a difference. She has a legacy.

Question for you: What do your words and actions say about you as a person?

Lorna was a beautiful lady. She came from a large family. She had many, many friends. She worked hard her whole life so that when she retired, she could enjoy the fruits of her labor. She was hopeful when she was diagnosed. She was in her 60s and she was fit. Together she and her husband planned the trip of a lifetime.

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I met Lorna when she was admitted for symptom control. She was no longer responding to treatments. She was weak and emaciated. The trip had to be canceled.

There was grief. It was anger, there was denial.

Over the next six months, I watched as Lorna slowly declined. At first, she tried to cram in every friend, every acquaintance. She touched so many people; they wanted to spend time with her. Her quiet time was at night or when the nurses came in to provide care. She’d asked me to slow down. She said she needed a break from the frenetic pace that she found so exhausting.

She didn’t want to hurt anybody’s feelings. Her family finally had to intervene.

During the last month of her life, she spent the time with the people that she loved the most in the world. There were mass bed cuddles, and I admit I joined in more than one of them. There were sleepovers, there were movie nights, there was storytelling. There was reminiscing… there was a lot of laughter.

Her daughters made sure her hair was perfect and her makeup was immaculate. On the day that Lorna died, she was meticulous.

Lorna taught me that despite our best plans and intentions, we need to make sure that our time counts.


As a society we speed-date our friends, we speed date our family. We push things off until later. We text, we have quick chats, we focus on quantity and we forget all about the quality. We need to slow down.

This last lesson… it encompasses the other two. When there are no laters on the horizons we need to do more than just exist. We need to take the opportunities to be kind to each other. We need to make sure that we’re observing what’s going on around us, not just focusing on our screens and on ourselves.

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