Released On 23 February 2026
Jill's blog: The Last Goodbye
By the time this blog gets published, it will be just over a year since the death of my father.
It’s been a bit of a rollercoaster of 12 months. Between the grief, the logistics of executing his estate from a different country and the personalities at play within those processes, I can’t help but feel changed by this time of my life. And when I look back at it, I suppose it all starts with that Last Goodbye.
Something shifts when you knowingly say goodbye to someone for the last time. It wasn’t noticeable right away; the grief came first. And in waves. Sometimes at random moments. Unexpected moments. Triggers of time spent together, conversations had, memories made. Both good and bad. Things begin to subconsciously replay. You go down the rabbit hole of retrospection. Perhaps there’s acknowledgement of things that could have been done differently, or things that you will forever cherish. Lessons learned both the hard and easy way. Yet somehow always for the benefit.
But the thing about retrospection is that it’s not meant to be a judgement of the past. Not meant to be a guilt building exercise. Retrospection, to me, is much more about learning for the future. Understanding how what has happened in the past has made you who you are. Has made you capable and courageous and strong and loving and empathetic and understanding.
So how does this all start with that Last Goodbye? For me, it taught me the beauty of time. The importance of gratitude. For everything my father was to me and everything my father gave to me. So much of who I am was shaped by our time together and I’ll never forget that last moment when I left his side.
He almost didn’t make it for my visit. My siblings were certain he would be gone before I arrived. But he wasn’t. He was there. In as much of his dynamic way that he could muster under the circumstances. Our last conversation was indicative of his attitude towards his cancer battle. “If I keep feeling like this, I could go on for another year. So maybe you come back in a couple months.” I replied “Yea, Dad, I’ll come back” knowing full well that when I did it would be for his funeral.
It hurt me to say that knowing the reality that he wasn’t ready to face. But I didn’t want to strip him of his hope because that’s how he made it this far. It was always with hope. Even when the struggle was so profoundly real.
After the doctors gave him 8 weeks to live, he made it over four years. That’s the thing about my Dad. No one was going to decide how long he had left. No one was going to “give him” time. He was stubborn to a fault on occasion, VERY true, but that stubbornness kept him alive. Gave him more time with us to connect, love and learn together.
As I sit here typing this, with the familiar feeling of grief starting to bubble, the overwhelming reflection I have is gratitude. Gratitude for him. Gratitude for life. All in a way I never felt before. And it was triggered by that Last Goodbye.
The loss of a loved one is painful. Yet it brings with it a reminder of the wonder that is existence and the importance of noticing, cherishing and accepting everything the comes with being Human. So even in death he is teaching me what is perhaps the greatest lesson of my life.
Jill is an American ex-pat living her best English life on the border of London and Surrey. She spends her days pretending she knows what she’s doing, creating some fun things along the way. With a passion for storytelling and the gumption of a New Yorker, she’s raising two cheeky, clever boys with deep imaginations and an annoyingly cunning use of language. With a husband, cat and hamster along for the ride, life is never boring. Even if sometimes a bit too stressful.
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