Now You Want to Show Up? When the Celebration Isn’t About the One Who’s Gone

Vera isn’t gone yet.
But already… the voices have started.

“I hope you’re planning something beautiful.”
“Everyone wants to be there.”
“Where will the ashes be scattered—can we be present?”
“Please let us know—we want to help.”                                                                                                             

Really? Now—during the most sacred and sorrowful chapter of her life—you want to circle overhead like buzzards, offering your uninvited and self-serving opinions on how, where, and when?

And now—you have the audacity to attack me behind my back because I chose to honor the love of my life and her final, crystal-clear wishes?  Because you don’t have a seat at a table you never earned?

You weren’t here.
You didn’t walk the long road.
You didn’t carry the weight.

But now you want to pass judgment from a distance?

What’s truly selfish and self-centered
is abandoning someone during their hardest hours—
and then demanding a voice when they’re gone.

You don’t get to disappear in the dark
and suddenly expect a voice in the story when the lights come on.

Let me ask one question:
Where were you when she needed you?

Not when she was thriving.
Not when she was pouring out her love and strength to everyone around her.
But now—when she was fading, confused, hurting, and alone?

You vanished.

I’ve been told by hospice nurses that this is common.
They see it all the time.
People don’t show up for the person—they show up to ease their own guilt.
To check a box.
To cry for themselves.
To say they were “part of it” when the truth is…
they weren’t.

And now suddenly they want to help?
Plan something?
Be present?
Take control of decisions?

They want to know what city.
What state.
What time.
Who’s invited.
Where the ashes are going.

Let me make something clear:
This isn’t about you.

Vera told me—more than once—what she wanted.

“If they didn’t care enough to come see me while I was alive, why would I want them around when I’m gone?”

That wasn’t said in bitterness.
That was said in clarity.
With sadness.
With finality.

She meant it.

She didn’t want a gathering.
She didn’t want flowers.
She didn’t want fake speeches or people reminiscing about her life if they weren’t willing to be part of it when it still mattered.

I know this may hurt.
I know some people may take offense.
But if you weren’t here for her in life—
you don’t get to rewrite the story after death.

This isn’t about punishing anyone.
It’s about respecting her.

Respecting her silence.
Her heartbreak.
Her boundaries.
And her wishes.

So if you’re wondering whether there will be a celebration of life,
whether you can help plan something,
whether your presence will be welcomed…

No thank you.
I will honor Vera’s wishes.

Because she mattered.
And this time, I will be the one who shows up—
not for appearance,
not for performance,
but for truth.