The Power of Presence: Meaningful Connection Without Exhaustion
By Cody Hufstedler, Palliative Care Chaplain and Host of "Dying To Tell You"
When someone we care about is facing a terminal illness, our instinct is often to fill the time with activities, conversations, or distractions. We want to make every moment count, to create memories, to somehow make their situation better through the force of our engagement. But I've learned that the most meaningful moments often happen in the quiet spaces between all our well-intentioned efforts.
Presence is often more valuable than activity. This understanding has fundamentally changed how I think about supporting people who are navigating serious illness.
I've learned that when we're facing our finish line, energy becomes a precious commodity that must be carefully managed. Every interaction, even positive ones, requires something from someone who may not have much to give. This doesn't mean isolation is preferable—it means we need to become more thoughtful about how we use the time we have together.
Some of the most profound moments I've witnessed happen when two people simply sit quietly together. There's something powerful about sharing space without the pressure to fill it with words or activities. I've seen family members worry that sitting in silence means they're not doing enough, but often these quiet moments provide exactly the kind of peaceful companionship that feels most supportive.
This kind of intentional silent presence is more than simply sitting. It’s an acknowledgment that there’s nothing that needs to be done or fixed, a message that everything is okay, no changes needed. In a time where things feel chaotic and wrong, this kind of normalization of quiet, calm moments can be healing.
Looking through photos together can be wonderfully meaningful without being exhausting. The person you're visiting can rest while you both explore memories at whatever pace feels comfortable. They can participate as much or as little as they have energy for, and the activity itself creates natural conversation without demanding performance or elaborate responses.
Music often provides the perfect backdrop for meaningful time together. Whether you're listening to their favorite songs, discovering new music together, or simply having something beautiful playing in the background while you both rest, music creates connection without requiring much active engagement. I've noticed that people often have strong emotional responses to songs from significant periods in their lives, and sharing these musical memories can be deeply connecting.
The people I interview consistently tell me that some of their most treasured moments with loved ones involve simply being present while they rest. This might mean reading quietly in the same room, working on a simple project nearby, or just sitting together while they sleep. Your presence becomes a gift of security and love that doesn't demand anything in return.
I do know how difficult it can be for us all to resist the urge to entertain or distract someone from their reality. But I've learned that trying to make someone forget their situation often backfires, creating pressure to pretend they feel better than they do. Instead, meaningful presence means being willing to be with them exactly as they are in each moment - a demonstration that you accept this moment, this situation, and this person just as they are.
I've discovered that sharing quiet rituals can be profoundly meaningful—making tea together, watching the sunrise, or simply breathing together in a peaceful space. These activities acknowledge the sacredness of the time you have while honoring the reality that elaborate plans might not be sustainable.
I’ve often said, "I don't need to be dying to live an intentional life." This intentionality extends to how we choose to spend time with people who are facing their mortality. It means recognizing that connection doesn't require constant engagement, that love can be expressed through comfortable silence, and that presence itself is a form of care.
The thousands of conversations I've had in my professional role have taught me that what people remember most isn't the activities or the words—it's the feeling of being truly seen and accepted exactly as they are. They remember feeling peaceful rather than pressured, loved rather than pitied, accompanied rather than entertained.
Next time you visit someone who's dealing with serious illness, consider bringing your full presence rather than an agenda. Offer to simply be with them in whatever way feels good to them in that moment. Sometimes the most meaningful thing you can do together is absolutely nothing at all.
