Going - My Way

09/02/2026

https://going-myway.biz/death-literacy-funeral-industry-transparency/

The Chicago funeral home tragedy shows why death literacy matters. Learn how consumer rights and informed planning protect dignity in end-of-life choices.

09/02/2026

Hello all! Yes, it's been a while since I've posted on this page. Going forward I will be more engaged by answering your questions, posting blogs and generally just communicating more frequently.

09/17/2025

https://globalnews.ca/news/11430226/robert-munsch-maid-author-assisted-death/

The beloved Canadian author said that he watched one of his brothers die slowly from amyotrophic lateral sclerosis (ALS), and doesn't want the same fate for himself.

07/13/2025

Better words to use when you want to comfort someone.

Instead of saying, "I know what it feels like", let's say
"I cannot imagine your heartbreak".

Instead of saying, "You're strong, you'll get through this, let's say " You'll hurt, and I'll be here.

Instead of saying, "You look like you're doing well, Let's say, "How are you holding up today?"

Instead of saying, "Healing takes time", let's say "Healing has no timeline".

Instead of saying, "Everything happens for a reason, let's say "This must feel so terribly senseless right now".

And when there are no words to say at all, you don't need to try and find some. Love speaks in silences too.
𝑈𝑙𝑙𝑖𝑒 𝐾𝑎𝑦𝑒
Aʀᴛ - Kurti Andrea
𝑠𝑒𝑟𝑖𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑝𝑖𝑡𝑦 𝑐𝑜𝑟𝑛𝑒𝑟

www.stephysplace.org

07/04/2025

The FTC just updated its Funeral Rule. Learn about 7 funeral home practices, from hiding prices to upselling caskets, that are now illegal.

06/03/2025

Death and life walk slowly, side by side—not in conflict, not in haste, but like old companions who have long understood they are not enemies, only different shades of the same mystery.

They do not speak, because they do not need to. In their silence lies a rhythm older than language, older even than time itself.

One does not chase, and the other does not run. They move beneath the same sky, the same stars, pausing at cradles and coffins as if both held the same quiet kind of weight.

Where one fades, the other begins. We cannot say who leads and who follows, only that they move together, always.

And in between their steps, we live. Lighting lamps with borrowed breath, planting trees we may never sit beneath, loving with trembling hearts, breaking in ways only time can make whole again.

We call it living—this fleeting stretch of wonder and worry, of rain in the middle of harvest, of laughter that echoes long after the moment is gone.

We rarely see it, but both death and life hold us gently—like two hands cupped around the same flame—knowing we are a song meant to be sung just once, and yet meant to be heard forever.




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11/30/2024