The Preciousness of Life: Embracing Mortality's Truth

In a culture often obsessed with longevity and the avoidance of death, the film Griefwalker offers a profound and counterintuitive perspective: the very essence and preciousness of life lie in embracing its inevitable end, our mortality. Through the insights of Stephen Jenkinson, a palliative care counselor with a deep understanding of grief and death, the film challenges us to reconsider our relationship with dying and, in doing so, discover a richer, more authentic way of living.

Jenkinson argues that death is not something to be feared and denied, but rather an integral part of what makes us human. He posits that "the crucible of making human beings is death" and that it is "the cradle of your love of life, the fact that it ends." By constantly pushing death to the periphery, our culture creates a "recipe for dying...of not knowing you're dying!" This avoidance, however, leads not to a happier existence but to a pervasive anxiety and fear. People in their final days often express less fear of pain itself, which modern medicine attempts to manage, but a more profound, "wretched anxiety" and "overwhelming fearfulness."

The film suggests that our cultural "death phobia" stems, in part, from religious and cultural narratives that present death as a consequence of disobedience and a sign of being "homeless in this world." This ingrained fear prevents us from fully engaging with the reality of our finite existence and, consequently, diminishes our capacity to appreciate the present moment.

As a leader and guide in fostering compassionate inquiry, I see Jenkinson's message as an invitation to expand our ability to sit with discomfort and engage in meaningful dialogue. What if we led with curiosity rather than fear? What if we embraced mortality not as an unfortunate conclusion but as an integral, sacred chapter of life? In my work, I have witnessed the transformation that occurs when people step into their full humanity—when they acknowledge not just their aspirations, but also their limitations, vulnerabilities, and the ephemeral nature of their existence.

Jenkinson advocates for a shift in perspective, urging us to "befriend" death rather than run from it. When we acknowledge and anticipate our own mortality, it doesn't lead to despair but rather strengthens our connection to life. He asks, "if you got your feet both firmly planted in the midst of your life, who has to tell you you're dying?" The fluttering leaves and the morning frost serve as constant reminders of life's transience. In my own journey, I have come to understand that true leadership, true presence, stems from the ability to hold space for this reality—to create environments where people feel seen not just for their ambitions but for their struggles, their losses, their unfinished stories.

For those facing death, Jenkinson emphasizes the importance of "keeping it there"—the knowledge of dying—"like a prized possession." This isn't about morbid obsession, but about allowing the reality of death to inform and enrich the remaining time. He suggests that what we often lose track of when faced with death is the deeper significance it holds for life itself. As a mentor and coach, I believe this lesson extends beyond our final days; it is a call to recognize that every moment is finite, every opportunity to love, lead, play, and belong is fleeting. If we lived with this awareness, how much more intentional, how much more generous, would we become?

The film also explores the concept of grief, not as a mere feeling, but as an "awakening" and a "skill" intertwined with the "skill of being able to praise, or love, life." True grief arises from the recognition of life's inherent nature, which includes endings, not just for ourselves but for those we love and the things we cherish. Learning to be grateful not just for what benefits us but for the entirety of existence, including its impermanence, allows us to see the "big story." In my work with individuals and organizations, I have found that grief is often the unspoken undercurrent—whether in leadership transitions, cultural shifts, or personal reinventions. Naming and honoring that grief can unlock a wellspring of clarity and purpose.

Ultimately, Griefwalker proposes that even in death, there is a profound purpose. Jenkinson describes dying as a "job description," an opportunity to "set the banquet table" for the living through the stories and memories left behind. Just as the Last Supper was a "feeding" through the sharing of impending death, so too can our own dying become a source of sustenance and meaning for those who remain. If we are to lead meaningful lives, we must recognize that our legacy is not merely in what we build but in the love, wisdom, and presence we offer along the way.

Creating a lasting legacy is hard work. It's not just about being remembered after you're gone. Instead, think of a legacy as sending out a group of messengers on a mission. These messengers aren't always people. They could be ideas, feelings, or the results of your hard work. Basically, your legacy is anything positive or negative that you leave behind that keeps working and affecting the world, even when you're not here anymore.

The film gently guides us towards the understanding that loving life fully means loving its end as well. Just as birth inherently includes death, so too does every moment of life carry the seed of its own conclusion. By embracing this truth, by acknowledging our mortality not with fear but with a deep sense of its place in the grand tapestry of existence, we can unlock a profound appreciation for the fleeting, precious gift of being alive. As we continue our own journeys—whether in leadership, personal growth, or community building—may we walk forward with the courage to face mortality and, in doing so, discover the deeper well of love, belonging, and purpose that awaits us.

The Griefwalker film link, from the National Film Board of Canada, is available here.