The deathbed theory

It’s a bit morbid to start your day off with a piece titled “The deathbed theory.” I get it. But it’s something that changed my life a year ago and because it helped me, I thought maybe it was a good opportunity to share it with you.

If you’ve read any of my content or follow me on social, you know that last year was not it for me: fertility trials, a foot fracture filled with lots of physical therapy, and a dependency on food on top of a 24/7 gig. I was on the path to destruction and there was no stopping me. That is, until last November.

My grandma had recently passed and in her final days she was surrounded by her whole family, each of us taking turns to share our favorite memories with her. Each of us thanking her for all she did to love and care for us during the course of her life.

Following her funeral, I hopped on a flight to Italy for a work trip and went full force into the non-stop life I knew—even though I was in the depths of depression, anxiety, and restlessness.

But I couldn’t stop thinking about my deathbed after being around my grandma’s.

What would it look like?

Better yet, what would I want my final thoughts to be?

You see, my work had become my life. The lines were so blurred that any thoughts of my deathbed were filled with the regret I imagined I would feel at everything I had missed with my family, with my loved ones. What about my future children? Would they resent me for putting work ahead of them? I was already putting work ahead of my husband, my parents and siblings, my friends, my literal self. I was even putting my work ahead of God, using it as an excuse for the days I wasn’t showing up to church or skipping my devotional time.

Maybe you already know this, but I come from an immigrant family. I’m a 1.5-generation immigrant, meaning I was born in another country (Colombia) but moved to the U.S. as a child. As the leader of our family, my dad worked really hard to provide for us. But he missed a lot too, taking jobs with overnight shifts because it was what was available or working multiple jobs at once. Band concerts and recitals, award ceremonies, etc.— my dad was notably absent. But it wasn’t because he wanted to be absent or because he had a choice. He was doing everything he could to make sure we had the funds to eat, to be clothed, to be in a safe home and environment with our mom — that was a sacrifice worth making.

The trajectory of my life had reached a point where I had to decide if I wanted to continue missing out on the things that truly mattered. My dad’s sacrifice was a worthy one. Mine? It wasn’t feeling like it.

Here’s what I was certain of: I knew I wanted my deathbed to be surrounded with my loved ones sharing all we did together, all we accomplished together. I knew I wanted my deathbed to be surrounded with love. I didn’t want my deathbed to be one of regret, where I was alone or spending it apologizing for all I missed and did wrong, for all I should have done differently from the very beginning.

Life is too short to continue down a trajectory where we end up alone because we’re chasing fleeting things, temporary things. No job, no money, no earthly thing will ever fill the void in our hearts that only our loved ones can, that only God can.

That was the dealbreaker for me. The deathbed theory. I talked about it a lot with Gabe in that season, what I wanted my deathbed to look like and what that meant for the changes I had to make.

It’s been nearly a year now since the deathbed theory (and a lot of prayer) led to my decision to step away from my job and I’m still figuring out what life needs to look like, and what balance needs to look like, in an ever-changing world.

I can tell you one thing: my life is better, significantly better because I made a decision to change the trajectory of my life so I could be the best version of me for myself, my husband, and our future children. And that is worth everything.

What will your deathbed look like? Anything in your life that you need to change so those final moments look significantly different than they will if you continue down your current path?

Here’s to a day of thinking about the end. Morbid? Maybe slightly. But if it changes things for the better, then I’m here for it.

Until next week,