By Grant Affleck
I have had the profound privilege of witnessing many perspectives on the vulnerability of death, supporting people through many hundreds of deaths. In my work with hospice, I sit with those anticipating the end of a terminal illness, before they die. In my work with law enforcement, I stand with survivors in the immediate, echoing shock after a loved one dies. Now, through the noble work I am blessed to do on behalf of End of Life Choices California (EOLCCA), I am entrusted to be present with people while they die.
In the frenzied pace and noise of Western life, the value of quiet is rarely taught, let alone practiced. Growing up in a culture that consistently defines strength as force, dominance, and conspicuous ‘bravado,’ I have felt a lifelong disconnect from that definition. To me, overbearing displays of strength have always felt like an act—a disguise hiding a lack of authentic power rather than projecting true resilience.
Western culture often equates strength with force, yet Eastern perspectives find power in the quietude of simply ‘being.’ Fire may be required to cut through iron, but water—soft, yielding, and patient—is what ultimately reshapes the canyon.”
I believe there is an incredibly deep and resilient energy in quiet humility. The ‘bravado’ that seems so loud is ultimately fragile, whereas true strength doesn’t need to be heard to be felt. It is the steady presence during a difficult time; the ability to sit in stillness and listen to someone who is in pain or frightened. It is the beautiful vulnerability of saying, “I’m here for you.”
I am deeply drawn to this inner power—this ability to hold space for others without the need to dominate it. It is a strength found in presence rather than outward force. For this reason, in my personal life and in the sacred work I feel called to do, I prefer the ‘power of soft.’ It is the quiet, unseen, and unbreakable anchor that holds fast when the loudest storms pass.
To be there for a client exercising their legal right to choose the timing of their death is a sacred honor. To hold a hand, to listen, and to validate what they are feeling is not a task—it is a grace. I enter each situation with an open mind and heart, understanding that every person has their own specific need. In these moments, there is often nothing to ‘do’; I am simply invited to ‘be.’
Sitting with someone who has chosen Medical Aid in Dying (MAiD), I often say, “It is an honor to be here with you, to support you in your final, brave choice.” In that finality, there is no need for bravado. There is only the peace, the dignity, and the immense, quiet power of a soft departure.
About the Author: Grant Affleck is a dedicated volunteer and advocate for individuals navigating end-of-life decisions. He serves as a trauma interventionist for law enforcement agencies, providing support on death calls. For over a decade, Grant has also been a hospice volunteer, offering comfort and assistance to patients and their families.
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