The Gift of Knowing

The Gift of Knowing: A National Healthcare Decisions Day Reflection

April 16th is National Healthcare Decisions Day. It is a day meant to encourage all of us to think about, talk about, and document what matters most when it comes to our healthcare and quality of life.

And this year, it feels very personal.

Last week, on March 26th, we lost my father-in-law, Barry, just one month shy of 92.

Barry was one of those people everyone loved. Calm. Respectful. Wise. Funny. Engaging. He truly saw the good in people and lived life with what he called his “rose-colored glasses.” He loved fast cars, trains, model airplanes, traveling, and his family. And he was a loyal, enthusiastic fan of his Dallas Cowboys and Texas Longhorns.

He simply loved life.

But what I keep coming back to right now is not just how he lived, but what he left behind for all of us.

Barry had everything planned.

When we went to the funeral home, every detail had already been taken care of. It was not just organized, it was paid for. In one of the most emotional moments a family can experience, we were not faced with a long list of decisions. We were able to simply be together.

But even more meaningful than the logistics were the conversations.

We had talked. Many times.

About what he would want. About what he would not want. About what mattered most to him.

So when doctors asked, “Would he want CPR?” or “Would he want this treatment?” we did not have to guess.

We knew.

That is the heart of National Healthcare Decisions Day.

It is not just about documents, although those matter. It is about conversations. It is about making sure the people who love you are not left wondering if they made the right decisions.

Because what Barry gave us was something I now understand in a much deeper way:

Grief without guilt.

We are heartbroken. We miss him deeply. But we are not second-guessing. We are not carrying the weight of uncertainty. We know we honored exactly what he wanted.

There is another gift he gave us that I will always hold onto.

In the last few months, I saw Barry almost every day. And every time, he would tell me, “I appreciate everything you do,” and “I love you.”

And every time, I said it right back.

There was nothing left unsaid. No wondering later. No missed chances.

It was a beautiful thing.

Barry was also fiercely independent. But when the time came that he needed help, he gave us another gift.

He accepted it.

Gracefully. Respectfully. Without resistance.

Anyone who has walked this road knows that is not always the case.

Because he was so appreciative and accepting, it made it easy to help him. It never felt heavy. It felt like an extension of the love he had always given.

He allowed us to care for him. And that kind of acceptance creates connection instead of tension. It allows love to be felt, not just responsibility.

As National Healthcare Decisions Day approaches, I keep thinking about how different this experience could have been.

Without the conversations, we might have been left guessing. Questioning. Wondering if we made the right choices in moments that already feel impossible.

That weight can stay with people for years.

Planning ahead and talking about your wishes does not take away the sadness of losing someone you love.

But it does lift an incredible burden from the people who will one day have to speak for you.

It gives them clarity. It gives them confidence. It gives them peace.

If you have been putting this off, consider this your gentle nudge.

Have the conversation. Share what matters most to you. Write things down if you are ready.

Not because it is easy.

But because it is one of the greatest gifts you can give the people you love.