Why Is Old Age So Confronting? | Blog 2 of 15 in the Soulfull Aging series
One of the most confronting things in life is watching someone you love slowly change.
When a parent, grandparent, or close friend starts to lose parts of themselves—through memory loss, changes in behavior, or growing dependence—it becomes deeply personal.
The person who once felt strong and safe may seem to slip away.
It stirs something deep: fear of losing them, helplessness, and the urge to stop time.
These moments bring aging close.
And they make us face our own mortality too.
My Grandmother’s Death and the Doctor Within
I was twelve when my grandmother died.
I never got to say goodbye.
Just before Christmas, we heard she had been admitted to the hospital.
Then silence.
A few days later, my mother came home and said: “Grandma has passed away.”
It was so sudden. And yet, in a way, it was how she chose to go.
My mother, trying to protect us from the hospital, didn’t take us to see her.
Not to say hello, not to say goodbye.
She didn’t realise how deep my grief was.
Because my grandmother was my rock.
There was no one like her in my life.
Everyone in the family remembers her as strong and independent.
She spoke five languages, which was common in Suriname.
She had clear opinions, and she wasn’t afraid to voice them.
She lived in a quiet street in Paramaribo, after moving from Coronie,
the coastal town where she had lived with her second husband, my mother’s father.
She was the one who truly saw me.
Even before I knew I was different, she sensed it.
Her presence calmed me.
Her eyes held a quiet knowing—especially when she looked at me or my mother.
As if to say: “It’s going to be okay, one day.”
Being seen like that stays with you.
he once said, calmly and clearly:
“The day I become dependent, I’ll know it’s my time to go.”
Seven days after entering the hospital, she was gone.
She kept her word.
She flew away.
And my rock was gone.
After she died, I started asking questions no one expected:
What is epilepsy?
What did Oma really die of?
That was the beginning.
It was a silent promise:
I would go into healthcare.
I didn’t fully understand why until much later.
The girl who lost her grandmother became the woman trying to save lives—
first through medicine, then through leadership,
and now through soul-based coaching.
And today, I know something I didn’t know then:
I’m no longer trying to stop death.
I’m helping people live.
Live fully.
By facing the fears, the conditioning, the stories that hold us back.
By being present.
By meeting life—and death—with truth.
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