After years spent walking beside people at the very end of their lives, one hospice nurse has come to recognize a truth so consistent it has reshaped how she sees the world. It is not dramatic. It is not poetic. And it has nothing to do with money, status, or material success.
It is quiet. And it comes too late for many.
Julie McFadden has built her career caring for people in their final weeks, days, and sometimes hours. Her work places her in rooms most of society avoids—spaces where pretense falls away and conversations become brutally honest. Over time, she has noticed that when life is stripped to its essentials, people begin saying the same things again and again.
What surprises most is not what they regret—but what they realize they overlooked.
Julie’s work has extended far beyond hospice walls. Through public speaking, writing, and social media, she has helped millions confront uncomfortable truths about death in a way that is calm, grounded, and deeply human. Her goal has never been to shock or frighten. Instead, she offers perspective—gained not from theory, but from presence.
When people approach the final chapter of life, the tone of their conversations changes. The urgency of daily responsibilities fades. Career goals, long-term plans, and social expectations lose their grip. What replaces them is reflection.
Julie says people begin reviewing their lives not as a list of achievements, but as a collection of moments. They speak more openly than they ever did when they were healthy. There is no need to impress anyone anymore. No image to protect.
One reflection comes up often: work.
Many people say they spent too much time working. Not because they were greedy or ambitious, but because life demanded it. Bills needed to be paid. Families depended on them. Rest was postponed, relationships put on hold, joy delayed for “later.”
Julie is careful to say this is not about blaming people for survival choices. Most people do not overwork because they want to. They do it because they feel they have no alternative. Still, when time runs short, many wish they had found more balance—more presence with the people they loved, more moments that were not rushed or distracted.
Yet even that reflection is not the one she hears most.
The most common realization people share near the end of life is far simpler—and far more unsettling.
They wish they had appreciated their health.
Not cured an illness. Not avoided death. Simply appreciated what their bodies once did quietly, reliably, without complaint.
Julie says people talk about ordinary abilities with a kind of awe. Being able to breathe without thinking about it. Walking across a room without pain. Sleeping comfortably. Eating without nausea or difficulty. Standing up without dizziness. Feeling energy in the morning.
When health is intact, it barely registers. It becomes background noise. People assume it will be there tomorrow, next year, forever. It is only when it begins to slip away that its value becomes painfully clear.
Julie has watched this realization surface countless times. Patients describe memories of days they rushed through—days they now recognize as extraordinary. Moments that felt mundane then are now remembered as gifts.
These conversations have fundamentally changed how Julie lives her own life.
She has shared that witnessing these final reflections made her more intentional about noticing what she once took for granted. She no longer waits for milestones or dramatic events to feel grateful. Instead, she focuses on the ordinary foundations of comfort and independence.
At the end of each day, she practices a simple habit. No elaborate journaling. No forced positivity. She writes down small, physical things she is thankful for.
Being able to walk without assistance.
Breathing freely.
Having energy to move through the day.
Feeling the warmth of sunlight.
These moments are not glamorous, but they support everything else people care about. By acknowledging them regularly, Julie stays grounded in the present rather than assuming her body will always function the same way it does today.
Her years in hospice care have also made her more cautious about certain everyday behaviors. She has spoken openly about habits she avoids—not from moral judgment, but from repeated observation.
Daily alcohol use. Smoking or vaping. Reckless activities that offer short-term thrill at long-term cost.
Julie has cared for many people whose suffering could not be reversed, but in some cases might have been delayed or reduced. Watching those outcomes unfold again and again changes how you see personal choices. Her approach is not about perfection or fear. It is about respecting the body as something finite and deserving of care.
She emphasizes that this awareness does not require drastic change. It starts with attention.
Noticing how your body feels today.
Resting when it asks for rest.
Choosing habits that support long-term comfort rather than short-term escape.
These decisions rarely feel urgent when health is stable. That is precisely why they matter.
Julie is clear that she does not share these reflections as warnings. She is not trying to scare people into living differently. Her message is quieter than that.
Health, when present, is silent. It does not demand recognition. It does not announce itself. But it supports every relationship, every dream, every responsibility.
By listening to those who have reached the end of life, Julie believes people can learn how to live with more awareness now—before loss forces the lesson.
The tragedy she sees most often is not death itself. It is regret rooted in inattention. Not noticing the strength of one’s body while it was still there. Not recognizing how much was already working.
Her work offers a reminder that is both sobering and freeing: meaning does not always come from doing more. Sometimes it comes from noticing what is already enough.
The voices she hears at the end of life are not asking for more years. They are wishing they had been more present in the ones they had.
And that lesson, Julie believes, is available at any age—long before time runs out.
Leave a Reply