On the last day I spent with my grandmother, at her remarkable, wise age of ninety-five, we were all gathered close, listening as the hospice nurse gently explained how little time we had left. The air felt still, as if the room itself understood the gravity of what was unfolding. And then something extraordinary happened. My grandmother had what so many describe as a “final rally”. That magical, sacred burst of clarity and energy right before the end, when the soul seems to open like a window letting in one last rush of light.
In that moment, she offered her emotional wisdom in a way only someone standing at life’s threshold can. It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t even startling. It was soft, intentional, and interwoven with love. It felt like watching the architecture of a life express its final, flawless design, every beam of experience, every brick of hardship, every layer of joy arranged into one last, perfect message. And I felt intuitively it was something I would carry for the rest of my life.
She told me I had always been sensitive, feeling life deeply. Even as a little girl, she said, I worried about my teddy bear when it needed stitching. Afraid it would feel pain. She chuckled in remembering my little days, then looked at me with a strength and clarity I will never forget. Her eyes were bright, almost youthful, filled with a knowing that felt golden. And then she delivered the sentence that has become a cornerstone in the building of my adulthood:
“You can do whatever you want. Don’t worry about what anyone else thinks. Live your life in your own way.”
In that instant, it felt like she handed me a blueprint, one drawn from a lifetime of choices, missteps, miracles, heartbreaks, and small victories. It wasn’t just advice. It was a transmission, a passing of a torch of life energy. A reminder that a life is something you build, moment by moment, with courage and intention. Something that requires both psychology and intuition, both logic and heart, both dream and action.
I believe angels came for her that day. I know because she smiled at someone or something just beyond us. Right before the nurse gave her the medication that eased her final moments. And instead of fear, there was calm. Instead of resistance, there was acceptance. Instead of pain, there was gratitude. I’m grateful too. Grateful for the peace. Grateful for the love. Grateful for that final gift of truth that now feels like the foundation beneath so much of my counseling work, my inner growth, and the way I understand people.
So here it is. The lesson she gave me, one I now offer to you, the way you might hand someone a key they’ve been searching for:
You can do whatever you want.
Let go of regrets, let them fall like leaves drifting down a slow, steady river.
Recreate yourself again and again, as many times as it takes.
Do not measure your life by the stories society hands you.
Your relationship does not have to look like anyone else’s.
Your dreams do not need to be approved by anybody.
Your path only needs to feel true to the person you are becoming.
Other people’s opinions? They fade. Truly. They are loud in the moment and unimportant in the long run.
What will matter is how you lived.
What will matter is the relationship you built with yourself.
What will matter is how fiercely and honestly you honored your heart and your own path.
This is the great freedom we often forget:
You don’t have to walk the same road as others.
You get to go inward, consult the quiet blueprint within you, and decide what you’re building with your time here.
You get to live the life that is yours, not inherited, not borrowed, not watered down.
To my sweet Mémère:
I will never forget you. I heard every word. I absorbed every detail. And yes, I’m still sensitive. Even after serving in the military, even after running companies, even after navigating the complicated architecture of adulthood. I still cry over teddy bears and sentimental things. And I’m proud of that. Because it means the part of me you loved. The soft part, the intuitive part, the part that feels deeply and sees the world through the lens of emotional wisdom, it survived.
I’m still building a life that honors that sensitivity. I’m still dreaming in big, unruly ways. And I will carry your love, your courage, and your final lesson in everything I do.
With Gratitude, Everything Changes
Always,
Jaclyn Fortier, LCMHC
Founder @ CCWA
www.carolinacounselingwellness.com
www.jaclynfortier.com
