Time. It’s a concept we’re all familiar with—our lives shaped by moments we cherish, remember, regret, and often try to control. Yet when it comes to the final moment of life—our end—we often hesitate. We delay the inevitable. We tell ourselves that we’ll have those conversations later, when the timing is right. But the truth is, the timing is never “right.” Time doesn’t wait.

Like many couples, time featured as a precious currency throughout Ian and Annette Buchanan’s life together, which, if measured in time, equates to 53 years. Together, they built a life full of memories, family, and adventures across six continents, from Antarctica’s frozen expanse to Nepal’s towering peaks, and the timeworn charm of France. But it was the Kimberley in Western Australia, with its blushing outcrops and cascading waterfalls, that left Ian in awe. “Ian always said the trip we did to the Kimberley, the cruise, was his high moment,” Annette recalls, a smile in her voice.

Living by the philosophy that time shouldn’t be wasted, they didn’t wait to live life. They lived it fully, in the moment. But time took on a new meaning when illness entered their lives.

The diagnosis that changed it all

Ian’s diagnosis of terminal cancer of the bile duct marked the beginning of a different kind of time. Suddenly, the days weren’t filled with grand adventures but with small, precious moments shared with family and friends. “Because Ian was sick for so long, even right up until the end, he was quite with it,” Annette remembers. “So we spent a lot of time talking.”

However, when Ian was first admitted to the hospital, they hadn’t yet documented his end-of-life wishes. His condition worsened, and during a critical moment, a doctor asked, “Do you have an advance care plan?” At that stage, they didn’t. “The doctor said, ‘It’s too late now.’ We nearly lost him then,” Annette reflects.

But they were given a second chance. Ian recovered and, to everyone’s surprise, the couple was blessed with another five years together.

The gift of time

The next five years weren’t filled with typical plans or vacations, but they were marked by a deepened understanding of time’s preciousness. “We realised after that first scare it’s not cut and dry,” Annette says. “You think you’ll know what you want, but you can't imagine the reality until you face it.”

During this time, they developed an advance care plan, something that would prove invaluable. The plan gave clarity to their wishes, especially for their children. “I didn’t think there would be a problem with my family, but it was good for the boys, particularly, to see exactly what their dad did and didn’t want.”

This clarity brought peace to their final days, removing the uncertainty of what to do when the time came. “Just having that certainty, knowing you're doing the right thing, when the medical staff are at your house, administering morphine and providing care. It’s a relief.”

One last goodbye

In the end, Ian’s passing was marked by moments of peace, laughter, and togetherness. “I can still see us all sitting on the bed together, joking,” says Annette. And when Ian’s son in-law softly uttered the words, “He’s gone,” the family knew that, even in the moment of loss, there was peace. Ian had taken his last breaths exactly how he’d wanted.

“I wanted to watch over him, and I was able to dot that,” Annette says. “We stayed with him until the undertakers came.”

Held on this birthday, Ian’s funeral felt like time had drawn a perfect circle. “I really wanted to have the funeral on his birthday as a celebration of his life,” Annette says.

As time goes by

Even in his absence, Ian made sure Annette would make the most of her time and continue to live fully. In his final weeks, he quietly organised a trip for her and a close friend—back to the timeworn charm of France, with its winding streets and buttery pastries they had once explored together. “He made sure I’d get back to France,” says Annette.

A dream trip, it became a journey steeped in memory. “It was a memory trip for me,” she reflects. One last gift from Ian—time carved out not just for travel, but for healing, for remembering, and for living, as they always had, in the present.

It’s a gentle reminder that planning ahead—and using the time we have to live on our own terms—isn’t about dwelling on death. It’s about making space for life.

Because planning can bring clarity in chaos. Comfort in uncertainty. And it ensures our loved ones aren’t left guessing when it matters most. Preparation isn’t morbid—it’s meaningful. And in the end, it’s not how much time we’re given, but what we choose to do with it that matters most.