The Art of Letting Go

How I Learned to Live Fully and Plan to Leave Gracefully

Most of us avoid thinking about death, whether our own or anyone else’s. But what if preparing for it could actually help you live more fully? My journey through loss, near-death experiences, and deep self-discovery has shown me that letting go isn’t just about the end, it’s about embracing life right now.

Several stars aligned over a period of years, eventually leading me to create a course about living fully and leaving gracefully.

The process began 41 years ago with the sudden and unexpected death of my father. It was my first real encounter with death, seeing a lifeless body and witnessing the impact on the loved ones he left behind.

I was very close to my father and only 31 years old at the time. My life had barely begun. I still have a vivid memory of the first time my siblings and I went to his apartment after the funeral to “take care of his affairs.” He had left no will, no instructions. His presence was so palpable that we each retreated to different corners of the room and cried. I wondered even then if the arrangements we made were what he would have wanted. It left me uncomfortable and uneasy, but I brushed it off. I didn’t really have a say in the arrangements; my mother and one of my sisters handled all the formalities. Life went on. How often do we gloss over important moments? How often do we shake off our discomfort and push it away?

The second time this situation arose was when my mother was diagnosed with cancer. She was given “a few months” and told to “get her affairs in order.” By then, I was almost 60. The way my mother approached her passing made me realize that perhaps my father’s exit had been a silent lesson for us all. 

My mother was prepared. She faced her imminent death with conscious intention—choosing her coffin, planning her funeral and celebration of life, settling her property and finances to manage taxes, making her will, and specifying which of her possessions would go to whom. She also chose not to die in a hospice or hospital, moving instead to a lovely apartment, which required clearing out a lifetime’s worth of possessions.

Witnessing this process, not just for my parents, but also for myself, was a shock. I realized how much “stuff” I had: things I didn’t even remember owning, things I had forgotten, things I never used. I donated an entire lorry load to an animal rescue shelter auction on Lamma Island in Hong Kong. It made me ask: Why do we hang on to unused items, clothing that no longer fits, unopened gifts? Why rent storage units for things we no longer connect to or need?

My mother lived another 18 months. As the only sibling able to be with her, I left my job in Hong Kong, put my son in boarding school, cleared out my home, rented it, and, applying Marie Condo’s principle, shipped only the possessions that “brought me joy” to Canada. I had no idea what “a few months” meant - three, eight, twelve? - but I was committed.

Caring for her was the most challenging, emotional, exhausting, yet rewarding experience of my life. We laughed, we talked, we sat in silence. I read to her. We discussed what she was going through, her near-death experience, what she saw, what she felt, whether she was afraid. I tended to friends and family who came to say goodbye. I learned how to administer her injections, help her with personal care, and preserve her dignity. It was a masterclass in consciously preparing to go to the “Spirit in the Sky.” And it wasn’t all doom and gloom, it was a full spectrum of peaceful, funny, uncomfortable, and tender moments.

After my mother passed, I had much to reflect on. At that moment, Kundalini Yoga found me. I was at a crossroads: no home (my house in Hong Kong was rented out), going through my third divorce, locked out of my Canadian house, bank accounts frozen, and living out of two suitcases for two years. I had lost every “identity” I had: daughter, mom, wife, employee, homeowner. Who was I now?

What looked like a disaster was actually an initiation. This so-called crisis became a portal to a new life, a return to my authentic self. At 60, I left everything familiar and went to Rishikesh, India, to train as a Kundalini Yoga teacher. The tools and lessons I learned changed my life, they opened my mind and heart. It was a rebirth.

Three years ago, in 2022, I faced my own brush with death. On holiday in Warsaw, Poland, I nearly died from a ruptured appendix. A two-week trip turned into four months. My years of meditation and yogic practice became my lifeline. To my surprise, my connection with “Spirit in the Sky” came in the form of Jesus, even though I hadn’t been particularly religious since childhood. Many amazing experiences happened during that time, too many to recount here, but I can say this: I felt supported, guided, and cared for every step of the way. I remembered my conversations with my mother and what she had described. At no time did I feel fear.

That experience forced me to confront my own mortality, something we all share, yet so few of us face. None of us knows when or how it will happen. My near-death experience, combined with the loss of my parents, propelled me to research how to leave gracefully. I wanted to create my own version of “conscious uncoupling” for life—a conscious exit. I wanted everything in order so my children would have an easier time when my moment came.

I realized that exiting gracefully begins with living fully.

The Art of Letting Go – Living Fully, Exiting Gracefully is the culmination of my research and personal experience. You cannot exit gracefully if you have not lived fully, if you have regrets, unspoken words, unexplored possibilities, or have never experienced your authentic self.

If this story has sparked something in you, I invite you to join me in Tiny, ON for my upcoming workshop The Art of Letting Go– Living Fully, Exiting Gracefully. Together, we’ll go on a lively, thought-provoking exploration of what it means to live a life of joy, purpose, and love, so that when your number is called, you can leave cleanly, consciously, and without regrets.