To create a culture where the subject of death is openly discussed without aversion or fear. Where grief is met with authentic compassion rather than awkward platitudes. This healthy dialogue can be achieved through education, empowerment, and encouragement - allowing us to honor life and meet these transitions with grace.

Mom
In 1997, the weight of the world was dropped upon my shoulders when my mother suffered a massive stroke that would take her life in a matter of days. In the blink of an eye, I would go from simply “daughter” to “next-of-kin”, making crisis-driven decisions that I was completely unprepared for. Within 72 hours into my new role, I would find myself planning my first funeral.

Cultural dynamics immediately followed, as strangers (to me) interjected and aggressively vocalized disapproval of choices I made for my mother’s memorial. I was 27 years old and doing my best to manage adulthood. Even still, the accusations of failing my mother’s Vietnamese heritage felt exceptionally harsh.

At 53 years young, my mom certainly did not expect to exit with so many incomplete tasks or leave such heavy burdens that could never be remedied. Sadly, her life span did not allow time to plan - so business was left unfinished, division was created, and many questions unanswered.

Bevan
In 2000, I would walk this sunset journey with Bevan, the youngest of my older brothers, during his brief cancer diagnosis. His aggressive lung cancer was detected in the late stages and would lead to death before he ever saw his 38th birthday. Looking back, some beautiful opportunities came from the devastating news. With the short five weeks between diagnosis and death, we were able to reminisce about our childhood, confess & tease about the times one snitched on the other, shed tears over the shoulda - coulda - wouldas. We had very little time, much less than expected, but we made the most out of it.

Breast Cancer
In 2012, I would be grappling with my own mortality as doctors handed me the news after my first routine mammogram. Before you could say “invasive ductal carcinoma” I would be under the knife for a bilateral mastectomy with lymph node dissection. Multiple surgeries would follow and all the fun things that come with chemotherapy, radiation, PET scans, etc.

Countless hours of comedy shows, meditation, and contemplation would be my new normal. This slice in the pie of life required critical decisions for the care of my kids & critters. As a single parent and still raising my boys (13 and 15 at the time), my cancer diagnosis made advance care planning no longer just a novel idea, but downright mandatory.

Sammy
In 2020, I would lose my oldest brother amid the relentless Covid-19 pandemic. His death was sudden and tragically, alone & in isolation. The gift he left before he died was clear communication and a pretty decent plan. Sammy, a single man with no children, who lived life on his terms, unconstrained by social constructs - had the foresight that we all should strive for! He would mitigate the costs and confusion of an “unplanned” death. Years prior, he expressed his wishes to me and ensured I would not incur the costs should he die before me. I will forever be grateful for this act of love.

Dad
Almost a decade before dementia consumed the old cowboy’s cognition & memory, my dad did something quite courageous. Unbeknownst to us, and aware that things were slipping from his mind, he faced reality and his own fears. My dad wasted no time and began investing countless hours putting his memories in print. This was truly remarkable, as I thought he was being a bit over-the-top spending days on end feverishly clicking away at the keyboard. But he knew the urgency and once again… he was right. (And boy, he loved being right)

To say that a “good death” doesn’t come with its share of problems would be inaccurate, and we could have used a little more direction, but we worked with what we had. Some events were planned in advance, down to his “Living Celebration of Life” where dad was able to bask in adoration, devour cake, and indulge on Ben & Jerry’s Cherry Garcia ice cream. It doesn’t get much than that.

April 6, 2023, just shy of his 93rd birthday, my father would take his final breaths at home, in his bed, surrounded by those who loved him.

Semper Fi

For more than two decades, every professional role I have held has placed me at the intersection of life, loss, and the tender space between. This was not by accident. It was by calling.

As a Medical Rep & Lactation Educator, I’ve sat in silence with parents in the NICU as they caressed and kissed their tiny newborn farewell.

As a Family Service Counselor, I’ve worked directly with grieving families during the planning and preparation of final arrangements.

I held the role of a Physician Sales Rep and have volunteered at hospice agencies during different chapters in my life. It is profoundly inspiring to see the comfort and support that hospice can provide for a “good death” experience. Even the most dedicated hospice team, however, can only do so much within the boundaries of a complex healthcare system. It is in that space, the gap between clinical care and deeply human presence - where a death doula steps in.

I’ve paddled through my own ocean of tears and faced the mountains of red tape following the death of my loved ones - and there have been many.

My place in this universe is offering education and the tools to embrace our mortality, invest in our choices, and manage end-of-life with dignity.

Wayfinder Life & Legacy was born from both the heart and the calling.

A wayfinder is a navigator. Someone who reads the stars, the wind, and the terrain to guide others safely through unfamiliar territory. That is exactly what this work is. When you or someone you love is facing the uncharted waters of aging, serious illness, or end of life - having a steady, knowledgeable guide by your side can make all the difference.

I am proud to announce that guidance now extends beyond end of life. As a Certified Grief Educator through David Kessler's grief education program, I am honored to also walk alongside caregivers, loved ones, and those navigating the profound and often isolating experience of loss. The scope and lessons encourage those in grief to witness, learn to grieve with more love than pain, and to find meaning. Wayfinder Life & Legacy is a accurate example of just that.

The journey to this name is also a deeply personal one. This business was previously known as Sunset Bridge - a name lovingly chosen to honor my two big brothers, Sammy and Bevan, whose initials it carries. They walked their own sunset journeys, and it was the privilege of walking alongside them that set me on this path.

As the work evolved and expanded, so did the name. Wayfinder Life & Legacy more fully reflects the breadth of this calling. Not only supporting those at the end of life, but helping people at every stage to plan wisely, live intentionally, and leave a behind a meaningful legacy.

Sammy and Bevan remain the quiet heartbeat behind everything here.

May they rest in love.