Do ‘good’ endings matter?
Life is full of endings, as well as new beginnings.
I think as a society we’ve trained ourselves to push past endings as quickly as possible and focus our sights on the new beginnings ahead. Whether it’s the experience of job losses, losing a home, a business, the end of a cherished relationship or long-held dreams, it’s all part of life. As the old saying goes, “all good things must come to an end.” and that’s because endings are a natural part of our human experience.
But there’s something to be said for slowing down, to appreciate the moment we’re in. There’s also something to be said for considering the importance of having ‘good’ endings in our lives, and how we may, or may not, have influence over what these endings are like for us and those around us.
Death is a part of the experience of life, and whether we are prepared for it or not, we will each have an ending, just as we each had a beginning.
The uncomfortable truth about death
The uncomfortable truth is, we don’t actually have any control over our endings. Just as we had no say in how we came into this world, we are unable to make any guarantees for how our journey out of this world will look. And the even more uncomfortable truth is, we are in a very privileged position if we are even contemplating what it means to have a ‘good’ ending.
As humans, we like to think we can take responsibility for our achievements in this life. We like to believe we’ve worked hard, made good choices, and carved out our own destiny. But in reality, none of us had a say in what country, culture, or religion we were born into. Those circumstances have shaped the opportunities available to us, the quality of life we’ve lived, and the quality of death we may have as well.
For example, a man born in the UK today can expect to live to nearly 79, whilst his Syrian counterpart may not reach 60. In Gaza, current estimates suggest men are living on average only into their mid-30s due to ongoing conflict. The flag we were born under dictates, to a significant degree, the age we can expect to reach and the conditions of both our living and our dying. So whilst I do believe what we do with the life we are given matters in the here and now, I think it’s also worth pausing to recognise our luck and privilege in where we find ourselves, and the meaning it brings.
Wrestling with the idea of a ‘good’ death
Describing a death as ‘good’ is sometimes seen as insensitive or even problematic. Critics argue that it risks glossing over the harsh realities many people face at the end of life: deaths shaped by poverty, violence, lack of medical care, displacement or social isolation. For many, death is not peaceful, not pain-free and not accompanied by the comforts of home or loved ones. To hold up an ideal of a ‘good’ death can unintentionally create pressure, suggesting that if your death is not serene or dignified, it is somehow less valid.
And that critique matters because it calls us to awareness, compassion and to humility. We cannot pretend that death is ever neat and tidy or entirely within our control and we cannot overlook the systemic injustices and inequalities that shape how people live and how they die.
What a ‘good’ death means to me
At the same time, I don’t think we need to abandon this phrasing altogether. For me, a ‘good’ death or a ‘good’ ending does not mean perfect, painless or free from difficulty. Instead, it means a death or ending that feels authentic to who you are, aligned with your values and reflective of the life you’ve lived.
It might mean, if possible, being surrounded by people you love. It might mean having your wishes heard and respected. It might mean finding peace in your final moments or simply being free from unnecessary interventions you don’t want.
And if you are privileged enough to have the freedom and capacity to plan ahead, to write down your wishes, to make choices about your care, to talk with loved ones, then why not? That privilege is not something to feel guilty about, but something to recognise, to honour and perhaps to use in service of others too. By making our own wishes known, we also open space for conversations that help families, communities and systems to better support all kinds of endings.
Holding both truths
So, I hold both truths together:
That the very idea of planning for a ‘good’ death is a luxury not afforded to everyone.
And that for those who do have the opportunity, it can be an act of self-compassion, courage, and care for the people we leave behind.
Endings will always come, sometimes suddenly, sometimes slowly and often unpredictably. We cannot control every detail, but we can reflect, prepare and, where possible, shape our endings in ways that honour our lives. To me, that’s not about striving for perfection. It’s about authenticity, dignity and presence; whatever that looks like for each of us.
Starting the journey
If you have never considered what it might look like for you to have a ‘good’ ending and it’s something you’d like to explore there are many ways to start this journey. Here’s a few suggestions you may find useful:
Attend a local death cafe to discuss and explore with strangers over tea and cake
Scan EventBrite for Advance Care Planning Workshops
Search your local bookshops for ‘death planners’ and find one that suits you and your vibe (doves and lilies aren’t everyone’s jam!)
Check out thefarewellguide.co.uk or @farewellguide on Instagram for support with planning your UK based funeral
Check out endwellproject.org for all kinds of talks and resources for exploring this topic
Reach out to me! I’m Esther, an End of Life Doula and Advance Care Planning advocate. I help people get their ducks in a row, and sometimes it’s as simple as a one-off chat to get you started. You can read more about me here.
