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The death of childhood

When she was ten, writer Dipika Kohli's best friend died in a terrorist attack. In an exclusive blog post for Dying Matters, she describes the lifelong legacy of losing someone so young.

I just want to say Thank You to those who thought it righteous to create this website and to all who contribute. It is difficult to find resources anywhere about the processes of dying and what may occur as a result.Your graciousness in sharing info has been a God-send as I go through experiencing my father's dying process. Sixty billion thanks and smiles to all who have played a part in publicising the much-needed info on this website. Read other personal stories. Read other personal stories.

How honouring Beth's organ donation wish helped us cope with her death

We lost our 21 year old daughter Beth on 30 September 2013 and it was her wish to be an organ donor. She was a final year drama student at Northampton University. She was looking forward to graduating this year and had spoken of travelling with her university friends and setting up her own theatre company.

I'm not ready to die

I'm not scared of dying, my only fear is leaving. It's Christmas Eve tomorrow and I'm feeling sad. I don't know how many more Christmases I will get to spend with my husband, children and grandchildren. I don't want to leave them. It's over two years now since being diagnosed with colorectal cancer, and 15 months since we were told it's terminal. I'm only 50, so much love I have left to give. It's getting tougher, more painful, but I won't admit it to anyone: it means I'm losing, and I don't know how much longer I have.

A poem in memory of a special friend

They had told you of your fate that day As I sat there holding your hand Your confusion and anger was so obvious And not hard to understand You could not accept the outcome And you fought it to the end Not ready to leave just yet You had things you needed to vent So much you had to do And so little time to do it Although your body was weak Strong was still your spirit

Where neuroscience and faith meet: a good death

What does it take to die well? Neuroscience is now offering astonishing new insights to help answer this age-old question, revealing some amazing overlap with the ancient wisdom of the world's main faiths.

The pain of my father's death

My father died suddenly from coronary heart disease. I spoke to him on the day of his death, a lovely conversation about him buying a new house and how he would help me. That evening, I got a phone call from my mum saying that dad had collapsed after leaving the pub and an ambulance crew were trying to resuscitate him. I prayed for a miracle. When I arrived with my husband and three brothers, I saw my father on the pavement with a blanket over his body and was told by a police officer that he had died. The pain was unbearable and I remember crying while holding my dad.

What was I waiting for?

My dad died of cancer on 3 October 2011. I happened to be on my way to see him that weekend with my three-year-old daughter, Jessica. He had received bad news that his treatment wasn't working. Although he tried to sound brave on the phone, I could tell he wasn't telling me everything, so my daughter and I set off from our home in Ireland to visit him in Norfolk.

There's never enough time left

I am 55 and have four children aged 17,18, 23 and 24. I've been a single mum for 17 years after their father left me when our youngest was born. I was diagnosed with stage 4 [advanced] bowel cancer three years ago, after being misdiagnosed for 18 months. This has now spread to my lungs, lymph nodes and brain. I guess I am lucky to still be here. I am so scared that I will leave my children with terrible memories of my death that will scar them and destroy their youthful, carefree innocence.

Much too young (on the death of a child)

When is a life cut short, too young? When your child is born, you love, you care, you dream, not for yourself but for the little bundle that you hold in your hands. Your precious cargo starts to grow, so many things happen that you can miss in the blink of an eye. The first smile, the first garbled message; so many firsts; too little time. Before you take your next breath, you suddenly realise that your son is growing and learning and being. The small child that was is now becoming independent; thinking independent, doing independent, making choices, living, loving and laughing.

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Your Stories

The death of childhood

A thank you to Dying Matters

How honouring Beth's organ donation wish helped us cope with her death

I'm not ready to die

A poem in memory of a special friend

Where neuroscience and faith meet: a good death

The pain of my father's death

What was I waiting for?

There's never enough time left

Much too young (on the death of a child)

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