I wasn’t sure I should share this…

But maybe it’s the reminder we all need- to love, to speak up, to Live Life.

“How lucky I am to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard.”  -A.A. Milne, Winnie the Pooh

Recently, my kiddos were making jewelry with my mom when Jackson picked up a charm and asked, “What does this one say?” It read, Live Life and without missing a beat, he said, “I want this one for Nonna.” Nonna—who, eight weeks ago, passed away after nearly two years of fighting cancer.

It was the sweetest, most caring gesture… and also heart-wrenching. My blunt, to-the-point 7-year-old daughter gently reminded him, “You can’t give it to Nonna… remember, she’s not here anymore?” Jackson paused for a second and said, “I want to put it with her ashes when we spread them.” Even typing that brings tears to my eyes.

And for the past 24 hours, I’ve been thinking about it. About life (as always), and death, and Jackson’s simple wish—to give a charm that says Live Life to someone who’s no longer here. It’s a stark and powerful reminder for the rest of us—those still here, still breathing, still able—to actually live.

Regrets, Even With Time to Prepare

We had 19 months—from diagnosis to death. Nineteen months to cram in what we felt was truly important in someone’s final chapter of life.

Of course, we had no idea we’d only get 19 months. Sometimes it felt like we only had a few. Other times, we believed we might still have years. Cancer is a brutal, unpredictable rollercoaster. But we did what we could to maximize the time we had, just in case.

That said—let’s be real—it’s incredibly hard to live every single day like it’s your last. I know, I know… that’s what I preach in this Elevate Livin’ Life newsletter. I believe in it with my whole heart. But even so, I’ve come to accept that you can’t always live like you’re dying.

Why? Because most days… you’re not. You still have to go to work. Do the laundry. Pay the bills. Prep the meals. Keep up with life. And that’s what happened with Gina too. We knew we should be having all the deep conversations. We knew we should be taking more trips, spending slower time together, painting, laughing, dreaming. But we were still living life—trying to pace ourselves, trying to keep going, in case we had more time than expected. And now, of course, we look back and wish we had taken that trip to see the Chicago Bears play in the fall. We wish we had stopped running around like crazy and just sat still together. We wish we had read her life journal with her, asked more questions, listened longer because when we read it now, there’s more to these stories that aren’t written in the pages and we’ll never know them.

I don’t know the perfect answer. I still believe in living like it’s your last day—but I’ve learned you also have to survive the day-to-day. So, maybe it’s not about living every day like it’s your last, but instead making sure your days aren’t completely void of the things that would matter most if it was.

Here are a few thoughts I’ve landed on—my working list of “try-this-instead” wisdom:

• Be brave enough to have the hard conversations. (More on that below.)
• Don’t wait. Say yes to at least one bucket list trip a year or thing you’ve always wanted to do. Stop playing the “someday-maybe” game.
• Blend your days. Fit in the mundane (because life), but make sure there’s at least one little soul-filling thing in the mix every day.
• Be your own assistant the night before. Prep yourself for a smoother, more intentional day.
• Front-load joy. Tackle the fun or meaningful stuff first—it’s easier to push it aside than the dishes.
• Time block—and protect the s* out of it. If something matters, make space for it like it’s your job.
• Ask the questions now. Don’t wait for a better moment—if something is on your mind now, speak up before it’s too late. 
• Make space for slowness. Not every moment has to be epic. A quiet coffee on the porch or folding laundry together while chatting can be just as sacred.
• Drop the guilt. You can’t do it all, and you’re not supposed to. Try to focus more on presence than perfection.

Handling the Last Time of Doing What You Love
In early May, we took Gina to see her horse, Cocoa—her loyal companion that she visited weekly but hadn’t ridden in a long time. That day, though, she felt strong enough to get up on that horse and take a few laps around the barn. I’ll never forget the look on her face: pure joy, pride, and peace. We all knew it would probably be the last time she’d ever ride. And how do you even begin to cope with that? Both as the person doing the thing for the last time, and as someone witnessing it?

I think about this sometimes during my workouts at CrossFit—when I’m lifting heavy or grinding through a benchmark workout. I wonder: will this be the strongest I’ll ever be? Will I always be a little slower from here on out? When will my last bike ride be? When will I no longer be able to pedal up a mountain and gleefully fly down the other side? When will I hike for the last time from dawn to dusk, exploring some wild new place? Hopefully not for many decades—but truthfully, we never know. So… do we rush to do more of them now? Well, that’s a loaded question for another day.

Back to that morning at the barn—Gina handled it with grace, joy, and tears. She hugged Cocoa and cried. She smiled so big it made us all cry too. It was beautiful. It was heartbreaking. It was honest. That’s the thing about life—you take the highs with the lows and just keep showing up, trying your best to soak it all in as you go.

And of course, having a 5-year-old allergic to horses added to the mood. Jackson has never ridden Cocoa because even being near her usually gives him hives. But that morning, we let him hop up and be part of this special memory, even knowing what was coming. And just look at his face—pure happiness and stoke level of 10… followed shortly by a puffy red face and watery eyes. Totally worth it.

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Going Out with a Bang
Even though Gina had stage 4 cancer and we knew we were nearing the end of our treatment options, her oncologist believed we still had one or two lines of defense left. In May, we scheduled the next step: radiation to the brain, set to begin June 11th. She was feeling good—really good—and truly living in those final weeks.

From that unforgettable early May ride on Cocoa, to a spontaneous bucket list trip we surprised her with (flights to Seattle, a road trip to the Hoh Rainforest, Olympic National Park, and the Tree of Life <–pictured above), to a mini family reunion on June 6th—Gina packed a whole lot of life into her last month. It was bold. It was beautiful. And then—bam—it all changed. So fast.

We went from taking a mellow nature walk in McCall with her on Sunday, June 1st… to needing a walker by Thursday… to doing our best to enjoy the reunion that weekend while watching her body rapidly shut down. By Monday, June 9th, she was in a wheelchair, and we were sitting in the oncologist’s office trying to figure out what was happening. Her team was baffled. They were sure something else—like an infection—had to be causing the sudden decline. But after tests, the answer was clear: it was the cancer. And this was it.
I’m not particularly religious, but I can’t help but wonder if her parents—both long gone—were up there in Heaven pulling some strings to make her transition quicker, easier, less painful. Because as hard and shocking as it was to go from hopeful treatment to hospice in the span of a week, we also saw it as a blessing. She lived fiercely to the end, and she didn’t suffer long. That was a gift. Gosh, that made me tear up again typing those words. 

Death Isn’t as Scary as I Thought

Dying wasn’t what I expected. I’ll be honest—I had never seen someone die before, and I was nervous. For months, we talked about where it might happen and who would be there. In my mind, I pictured us sitting quietly around her, holding hands, crying together in the final hours or days. And while moments like that certainly happened, there was so much more to it.

There was laughter. There was even joy. There were games—because we’re a card-playing family—and we made sure to set up around Gina so she could still be part of the action. There were walks with the dogs. Workouts. Errands. Life, in all its ordinary beauty, kept moving alongside the grief.

And there were also the tears, the long hugs, the deep conversations, and the storytelling. So much storytelling. I’m endlessly grateful I was brave enough to go be there—to join Tony and his aunts and uncles for those final days. It wasn’t easy, but it was a gift I’ll never forget.

So if someone you know is dying, and you’re scared or unsure whether to show up: go. Don’t be afraid to be there. It won’t be perfect. It won’t be clean. But it will be real. And you won’t regret it.

Saying Goodbye

How do you say goodbye to someone when you know—like, really know—it’s the last time you’ll ever see them? Let me tell you, that s*** is real. It’s raw. And it’s so uncomfortable. Honestly, I almost didn’t do it. Saying an official goodbye felt too vulnerable, too intense, too awkward.

But I had a boost from my husband, who sat down with me to do it too. We cried. We made promises. We hugged. And even though Gina had been mostly unresponsive for days, she made it very clear she could hear every word we were saying. Even just typing that brings the tears back. It was one of the most emotionally intense things I’ve ever experienced—but also one of the most beautiful.

I’m so, so grateful I was brave enough to speak out loud what she meant to me.

So here’s my message to you: if someone you love is dying, and you feel even a little tug in your heart to say something—do it. Be brave. Say the things. Even if it’s just a text or a note someone can read to them. Or just holding their hand if the words are too hard to speak, it will mean more than you know—to them and to you.

Honestly, I felt the pictures above and these few topics were too personal to share and I debated over and over again about changing them out for different “nicer” photos, or removing this section completely. But I kept thinking about if I had read something like this months ago, it would have helped me prepare and be not so scared to be apart of the end, and also know how important it would be. So I’m laying it all out there for you, one of you out there reading this message who might be preparing for the death of a loved one. Be vulnerable yet be in the moment and be there, you won’t regret it.

Jackson’s Wish to Live Life

After I found some peace with my goodbye to Gina, it was time to return to life and parenting. I headed home while Tony stayed with his family to be with Gina until the end. Even though hospice told us she’d likely pass within 24–48 hours, Gina held on for another five days. In the end, it was just her babies—Tony and Becca—by her side during those final days. They cared for her, loved her, and were with her when she passed away on June 20th, 2025.

Now, almost eight weeks later, we’re still riding the waves of life—especially after losing someone so close. We think about her often, we talk about her, and we feel the grief show up in both expected and unexpected ways. It’s hard, especially with younger kiddos who are still trying to understand it all. But even in the heaviness, there’s beauty—like Jackson’s comment about wanting to leave the “Live Life” necklace when we spread Gina’s ashes.

So now I will be making one of those necklaces. Because it’s a powerful reminder to live this one life we’ve been given.

Whatever you feel called to do—do it.
Whatever you need to support your life—go get that too.
Whatever you’ve been dreaming about—make space for it.

Forget the idea of perfect balance. Just find ways to weave a little bit of it all into your everyday life. A bit of what fuels your soul, alongside what simply must get done. Don’t wait. Don’t tell yourself you’ll start living after you retire—because, heartbreakingly, not everyone gets to retire.

Book the trip.
Start the course you’ve always wanted to take.
Leave the laundry and the dishes for a minute and go lay in a hammock with your kids.

Take a little time, in between all the to-dos, to truly LIVE LIFE.

As always, thanks for reading along. There’s a lot of deeply personal stuff in this one—things I wasn’t sure were appropriate to share—but, well, I’m quite the open book (if you couldn’t tell 😊). And more importantly, I believe this is the kind of thing that should be shared.

Because if I had read something like this months ago, I think it would have helped me. Helped me see the importance of finding the courage to have the hard conversations. To not be afraid of being around death. To still find ways to Live Life in the midst of all the chaos.

So if this helps even one of you do the same—find your courage, face something hard, or simply remember to embrace life—then I will gladly keep sharing these raw and real moments.

Here’s to Elevate Livin’ Life.
– Kelli