My greatest fear and what it teaches me about life and death

I'll let you in on a secret, few people know this about me: The little Laurence inside me is terrified by the fear of the death of those she loves . Death, the separation from loved ones (at least on a physical level), is her greatest fear ever since she understood that it exists.

I think it all started very early. When I was 3 or 4 years old, Véronique, the daughter of a friend of my mother's, who sometimes babysat me, died in a jet ski accident. I have no conscious memories of it, but I think it was the first time I was confronted with death.

Then, later, there was the accidental death of television host Marie-Soleil Tougas, which shook all of Quebec and deeply affected me. As a child, I didn't understand everything, but I felt that something serious and irreversible existed in the world .

In my own family, too, death came early: all my grandparents died before or during my childhood. My Italian paternal grandmother, my nonna , died when I was 11. My parents wanted to protect me, so they decided not to take me to the funeral home and only told me about her death when they got home. I still remember the shock of the news and that strange feeling of being both protected… and kept at a distance from a mystery that was too great.

And yet, despite these experiences, I find these facts still difficult to accept:

• Everyone I love is going to die.

• Everything that is born dies.

• Our physical bodies are temporary.

  
  

The reality of death, although painful, influences everything I experience… and everything I accompany in my work as a funeral celebrant .

"The people we love are all going to die" Wearing this sweater reminds me of the fragility of life. And behind me, Doudou, my little angel...

The ephemeral makes life precious

As Laure Waridel so aptly puts it:

"It is precisely because life has an end that it is so precious and deserves to be cherished. That we marvel at it and celebrate it. Its ephemeral nature compels us to love more deeply, to live more authentically."

Every day, I become more aware of this fragility. The ephemeral nature of life brings us back to this truth that I encounter every day in my work as a funeral celebrant : death is part of life.

These simple, vibrant moments bring me back to the heart of what truly matters:

• My rabbits' joyful jumps when I bring them their vegetables,

• The birds and deer that come to my feeders,

• A hug from my sweetheart,

• Rainbows (even those from my suncatchers),

• A fit of laughter shared with friends,

• A nice meal with my mother,

• Taking the time to prepare and enjoy my matcha or my sacred cacao,

• A telephone conversation with my father,

• A walk in the woods,

• My cat Kiwi purring on her pillow on my desk as I write these words...

But sometimes, the ephemeral hits us harder.

I think back to my good friend Alexandre. The night before his sudden death, he had dinner at my place. We spent an evening like so many others: simple, lighthearted, full of laughter and wonderful conversations. It was only after his passing that I understood how precious that evening had been. It would never come again.

Facing the fear of death in my work as a funeral celebrant

In the work I do, I support, with all my compassion, people who are living my worst nightmare, the one that awaits us all. As if, through their stories, I was slowly preparing myself for it…

Every encounter is unique.

Some people cry softly.

Others talk incessantly.

Still others remain silent, unable to contain their grief.

There are memories that make some laugh through tears, and others that break their voice.

What touches me most when I officiate at funeral ceremonies is having the honor of witnessing the love between the living. Seeing arms embrace, shoulders offered, glances met as if to remind us: "We're going through this together." This shared love is often as strong (if not stronger) than the grief itself.

The emotion I observe most often is sadness.

Sometimes also deliverance, when the person was suffering.

But after the ceremony, there is almost always the same thing: gratitude.

Gratitude for the gentleness, for my calm presence, for a unique, tailor-made ceremony, entirely reflecting their loved one. And I feel extremely privileged to have been able to accompany them through this delicate moment.

This role has taught me that I am much stronger than I thought. That I can hold space when emotions are overwhelming. That I can look death in the eye, again and again, and discover that it she not an enemy, but an ally.

Because without death, life wouldn't have this significance. Without the unpredictability of the last breath, we would take everything for granted. We would forget that everything is impermanent and constantly changing.

A personal note: Doudou

Doudou and I, a few minutes before his last breath. A sweet, true and infinitely precious moment.

In the first photo accompanying this article, you can see my Philippe Brach sweater with its somber but true message… and my beautiful ginger cat, Doudou.

Doudou died in May 2025.

His last moments are etched in my memory.

Minutes before his last breath, I was outside with him, waiting for my hair dye to set. We took one last selfie… without knowing it would be the last.

Then he went to a quiet corner to leave his body, very gently. He allowed me to stay with him until the end. And I found the strength to tell him, "It's okay, you can go... I'm with you." Even though it was the hardest thing I've ever done.

After his death, I saw signs:

• a ginger cat in a patio door,

• a ginger cat toy with big green eyes clinging to a school bag,

• a wooden essential oil diffuser in the shape of a ginger cat (the only one among several bears).

I created an altar for him. I placed his photo there, symbolic objects, his mustache which I kept in a heart-shaped glass jar, and the essential oil diffuser that resembles him. Sometimes I dance to songs that remind me of him, or I watch our videos and let my tears flow. It's my way of continuing to nurture our bond in a different way.

And you?

If you were to take away only one thing from this article, it might be this: Death is not an enemy. It is what makes life precious, vibrant, irreplaceable. It is its randomness that makes every moment truly count. Death is part of life. It doesn't take away meaning; it reveals it.

To love is to want to keep our loved ones with us forever. And it's normal to be afraid of losing them. Learning to live with the fear of death is also learning to love more deeply.

And you, how do you live with the ephemeral?

With compassion,

Laurence SF Phare

Funeral celebrant & bereavement companion