Vågetjenesten Fr.havn-Sæby-Skagen

13/11/2025

”Hver dag, med hende, er en gave, som jeg aldrig vil tage for givet.”

Siden Majas mor blev erklæret uhelbredelig syg, lever hun i et konstant spænd mellem håb og frygt – i ventesorgen.

”Det føles som en balancegang mellem at ville holde fast og samtidig øve sig i en dag at skulle give slip.”

At være pårørende til én, som er uhelbredelig syg, har for Maja ændret hendes perspektiv på, hvordan de skal leve, i den sidste tid de har sammen.

”Jeg begyndte at handle ud fra kærligheden - ikke frygten, men med en voldsom bevidsthed om, at alt kunne ændres på et øjeblik.”

I familien har de altid kunne tale ærlig om alt, og samtalerne om alt det, man normalt ikke tør tale om – frygten, sorgen, døden – har gjort det mere trygt at være i ventesorgen.

Samtidig mærker Maja et savn til, at omverdenen tør være i sorgen med hende, uden at skulle fikse det, og hvor hun bliver set og anerkendt for det, hun føler.

”Ventesorg er ikke ’bare’ er at sørge for tidligt. Det er en vedvarende følelsesmæssig storm, hvor man både håber og frygter i samme åndedrag.”

I Børn, Unge & Sorg, en del af Det Nationale Sorgcenter, tilbyder vi hjælp til børn og unge med alvorligt syge forældre, så der kan skabes en balance mellem sygdommen og hverdag.

💙Oplever du selv ventesorgen over en forælder eller søskende, som er alvorligt syg, eller kender du nogen som kan relatere til det, så læs mere her om, hvordan vi kan hjælpe: https://sorgcenter.dk/ventesorg/

02/10/2025

30/09/2025

💜

No matter how much time you have had to prepare, no matter how long you have known this moment might be coming, when that last breath is taken, it can feel as though you had absolutely no idea. It is not just the ending of a life, it is the finality of it, the stillness that settles in, the deafening quiet after the sound of someone’s presence disappears. All the days, weeks, or even years of knowing this day would come do not soften the impact of that exact moment.

For the one who has been sitting at the bedside, holding vigil, showing up day after day, it is still a shock. It is still a wave that knocks the wind out of you. Preparation may help you know what to expect, but it cannot prepare your heart for the ache of that silence. And for those of us who are there in support, we must remember that “knowing” and “accepting” are not the same thing.

So, when you see someone experiencing that loss, resist the thought that they are “doing okay” just because they saw it coming. Loss does not hurt less simply because it was expected, it is final, it is real, and it changes the air they breathe. Show up for them. Give space for the depth of their grief. Let them know that you see how hard it is, even if the calendar gave them notice.

No one is every truly ready… and knowing it is coming doesn’t make it hurt less.

xo
Gabby

You can find this blog here:
https://www.thehospiceheart.net/post/we-are-never-truly-ready-for-the-last-breath

24/09/2025

05/08/2025

💜

Not all caregivers are professionals. Some are family, friends, and neighbors, the quiet heroes who step in when someone they love can no longer care for themselves. They didn’t train for this. They didn’t ask for it. But they show up anyway, day after day, holding everything together with love, grit, and sheer will.

They make meals, give meds, manage appointments, and carry an emotional weight most people never see. They rarely ask for help. They will smile and say, “I’m fine,” even when they are running on empty, because asking might feel like admitting they can’t handle it.

What they are doing is incredibly hard, and incredibly beautiful, it deserves to be seen.

So don’t just say, “Let me know if you need anything.” Say, “I’m here,” and mean it. Drop off a meal. Send a note. Sit with them. Be someone they don’t have to be strong around.

Because what they are doing isn’t just caregiving, it’s devotion, courage, and it is a quiet sacrifice. And the very least we can do is notice, honor them, and remind them they don’t have to carry it alone.

If you have cared for a parent, a sibling, your partner, your child, a friend, a neighbor… this hug is for you (((hug))).

xo
Gabby
www.thehospiceheart.net

29/07/2025

One of the most important things we can do for someone who is declining, especially nearing the end of life, is to align our care with them, not with our own fear or habit. This becomes especially hard for caregivers who have been doing this work - loving, nurturing, and advocating - for a long time. Whether you are a spouse, child, friend, or you are providing care professionally, it is deeply personal. You’ve spent days, maybe years, encouraging them to eat, drink, move, and stay engaged, but now, things are changing. Their body is slowing down. And that same approach, that same rhythm of care, no longer fits.

What I see often, and what breaks my heart a little every time, is the struggle caregivers feel when those signs of decline appear. They want to keep doing what they have always done, urging them to take another bite, another sip, another walk. But when the body is tired, when the appetite fades, when sleep becomes the main companion, we have to shift. We have to soften. Forcing someone to eat or stay awake when they no longer want to isn’t care, it’s fear disguised as help. And it is okay to feel that fear. But we must also have the courage to meet reality where it is.

One of the kindest and most necessary things we can do is teach caregivers how to realign their care. To help them understand that less food, more sleep, and changes in alertness are not things to fix, but natural parts of the process. This isn’t giving up. It’s letting go of control and choosing presence instead. It’s saying, “I’m with you in this moment, just as it is.”

Care changes because the person we love is changing. And when we adjust our care to match that truth, we offer something even deeper than support, we offer respect, tenderness, and permission for things to unfold as they’re meant to.

xo
Gabby

You can find this blog here:
https://www.thehospiceheart.net/post/aligning-your-care-with-their-decline

26/07/2025

When someone receives a terminal diagnosis, or begins to decline from age or illness, something devastating often happens quietly, beneath the surface: they begin to lose their autonomy. Suddenly, everyone around them is telling them what they should feel, how they should think, how to cope, how to fight, even how to die. Grief, hope, acceptance - these are deeply personal experiences, but they often get drowned out by well-meaning voices trying to make sense of it all. In the process, the person at the center of it, the one living it, is often silenced.

We must do better. We have to protect a person’s right to decide what this chapter of their life looks like, no matter how uncomfortable it makes us. Their words, their wishes, and their boundaries matter up until their very last breath. Even if their choices don’t align with what we would want, they are still theirs to make. Dying is not something we get to do for someone else. What we can do is honor them with our presence, our listening, and our unwavering respect.

This is why conversation matters, real conversation. Talk to the people you love about what’s most important to them. Ask them what they want, how they feel, and what they fear. Be the person who listens in a way that makes them feel heard. And when they tell you, don’t rush to fix it or change it, just hold it. Carry their words like something sacred. Because in the end, the greatest act of love might not be saving someone, it might be showing up exactly as they have asked you to, even when your heart wants something different.

xo
Gabby

My book "The Conversation" can guide you toward having this difficult conversation.
You can find it here: https://a.co/d/9TUHqwL

25/07/2025

Someone asked me if I still feel anything when someone dies, or if I have become numb to death after all the years I’ve spent in end-of-life care, and all the goodbyes and deaths I have witnessed. The question caught me off guard, not because it was offensive, but because it reminded me of how misunderstood this work can be.

The truth is that I feel everything. I always have. What time and experience has changed is not the depth of my feeling, but my relationship to it. I’ve sat at the bedside of so many people as they take their last breaths and I have held hands, whispered final words, witnessed love, fear, surrender, and grace. These moments don’t numb you; they shape you and they soften you. And eventually, they bring you to a quiet place of peace with death itself.

I don’t sit in discomfort. I don’t rush to fix what can’t be fixed. I show up with presence, with reverence, and with a deep understanding that this, too, is part of life. When you’ve been in the room enough times, you stop trying to resist what’s happening, and you learn to honor it.

Making peace with death doesn’t mean I am detached or unfeeling, it means I have found a steadiness within myself, a kind of sacred pause that allows me to be fully present. I am not overwhelmed. I am not trying to make sense of it or avoid the weight of it. I am just there, grounded, bearing witness without judgment, without needing to rescue or retreat. It’s not about being numb, it’s about knowing exactly where I am and why it matters so much.

I have made peace with death; not just as a part of my work, but as a part of life. I accept its presence, both personally and professionally, and I am prepared for it in ways that don’t make me less emotional, only less afraid. My experience has gently shaped me, teaching me how to sit with those who are dying and those who are grieving, to hold space in the sacred stillness of a final breath. And while I’ve grown familiar with death, I hope I never grow numb to its significance. Each goodbye remains holy. Each moment, a quiet reminder of how deeply we are connected.

Even after all this time, I still believe that death deserves our presence, not our fear.

xo
Gabby

You can find this blog here:
https://www.thehospiceheart.net/post/death-deserves-our-presence-not-our-fear

25/07/2025

De fleste af os forbinder sorg med dét, der kommer efter et dødsfald. Men for mange pårørende begynder sorgen længe før, livet slutter.

Det kaldes ventesorg og er et begreb, der vinder indpas i takt med, at flere lever længere med alvorlig sygdom. "Ventesorg er noget, man kan opleve, når man ved, at et menneske skal dø, men ikke hvornår," siger professor Maja O’Connor.

Flere end 570.000 danskere oplever hvert år at blive pårørende til et alvorligt sygt familiemedlem. Ca 82.000 børn og unge op til 28 år oplever hvert år, at en mor, far eller søskende får en alvorlig somatisk sygdom. Det er den kroniske venteposition, som gør ventesorgen særligt udfordrende.

"Ventesorg ligner sorg. Men det er også noget andet. Det er en lang, opslidende proces, hvor man både mister og venter. Og det er hårdt," afslutter Maja O’Connor.

Er du bekendt med begrebet, og har du nogensinde selv oplevet ventesorg?

Læs hele historien om ventesorg her: https://nordjyske.dk/nyheder/vores-liv/sorgen-kan-komme-foer-doeden-ventesorg-rammer-tusindvis-af-paaroerende/5643880

20/03/2025