Everyone’s end of life experience is unique. It’s a deeply personal journey, a road that will look different for everybody and can vary significantly based on individual circumstances. A spectrum Assistant Minister for Health and Aged Care, Ged Kearney, has an intimate connection with.

“My beautiful nephew died from an aggressive Ewing sarcoma when he was only 17, and it was very quick,” Ged recalls. “And my mother, at the other end of the age spectrum, died of quite a rare autoimmune disease when she was 74, which is still quite young,” she says, sharing the heart-wrenching experience of losing two loved ones to terminal illness.

“They were two very distinct encounters,” Ged reflects. “But both were examples of how palliative care is so personally tailored; it needs to be flexible, and the brilliance of palliative care professionals, who know how to do that, is quite amazing.”

Her mother’s final weeks were spent at home, surrounded by loved ones. “She had seven siblings, nine children, 27 grandchildren, and all she wanted was to have her family around her," Ged says with a smile.

“We were all there in the house with her. My brother called it ‘Gran’s Central Station’, because that’s what it was like,” she says. “There were relatives and priests, rosaries around the bed, and lots of storytelling, until she slipped into unconsciousness.”

“It was exactly what she wanted.”

Amidst it all was the palliative care team, working behind the scenes to support the family and offer guidance and relief at every turn. “My brother dubbed them the ‘palliative care ninjas’ because of how smoothly they handled everything,” she says, recalling how they’d sweep in, quietly work their magic then slip out again, unseen. “We all thought that was pretty funny, these ninja magic hours where mum would be all comfortable and looking beautiful again.”

As a former nurse, Ged says her family relied on her medical knowledge to answer any questions they had; a responsibility that weighed heavy until one of the palliative care nurses gave her a gift she didn’t realise she needed. “She said to me, you’re a grieving child here too. Just because you’re the nurse of the family doesn’t mean you have to take on all this yourself."

Ged describes the final weeks of her mother’s life as revelrous; while heavy with the knowledge of what was to come, it was full of love, joy and merrymaking. “It sounds kind of weird, but it was a really happy time because it was kind of like a celebration of mum’s life,” she explains.

It was the end of a life well-lived. And while the grief was palpable, there was a beauty in being together as a family.

By comparison, Xavier’s experience was entirely different. Swift and unforgiving.

He was a 17-year-old boy who was full of life, even when his life was slipping away from him. “He didn't want to be hanging around the house with a whole lot of people saying the rosary,” Ged re-calls with a gentle laugh. “That wasn't his idea of how his last few months on Earth should be spent, he wanted to go out with his mates,” she says.

“I remember the palliative care nurses saying, 'Well, here are the dangers, and here's how we can help you do that’.”

The palliative care team did everything in their power to ensure Xavier could live out his final days on his terms; working tirelessly to manage his pain, keep infections at bay, and supporting Ged’s sister, Mary, who was faced with the impossible task of letting her son go.

“I still remember the way my sister would look at Xavier as he’d pull his beanie over his bald head, wrap himself up, and head off to the footy with his mates,” Ged says sadly. “She didn’t want to let him go.” Her heart was breaking with the knowledge these moments were numbered.

When their mother died, the family were a support system for each other, huddled together to get through it as best they could. But, when Xavier died, that wasn’t possible, says Ged. “Xavier didn’t want us all hanging around, so the palliative care team had a really important role in providing both practical and emotional support to Mary.”

“They were lifesavers for her.”

Ged says for her, Xavier’s death was the hardest. “Not because I loved him more, but because I wasn’t involved in his day-today care,” she explains.

With her mother it was communal. The family supported each other and grieved together but with Xavier, the focus was on supporting Mary from afar, which Ged says could feel isolating at times.

“We couldn’t surround him with love and support like we did with mum, because that’s not what he wanted, and that was hard.”

This emotional distance, combined with a background in nursing that meant she was privy to information the rest of the family wasn’t, meant Ged was faced with processing multiple layers of grief. “I was often asked to provide answers - how long he had, what would happen next? - but I didn’t have much control and I found that quite difficult.”

When Xavier’s doctors said there was nothing more they could do, Ged was entrusted with explaining to her sister that all treatment avenues had run their course. “That was a heartbreaking conversation to have,” Ged says.

 When the time came, Ged says she was by Mary’s side.

“The palliative care nurse asked if we’d like to lay him out, which was really lovely of her,” she says through tears. “There was a real sense of caring, from the beginning to after Xavier passed away.”

While vastly different in nature, Ged says each experience highlights the unique and tailored approach of palliative care—how varied, flexible, and personal it must be - and the deep compassion within those who provide it.

“Palliative care isn’t just about dying well - it’s about living well in the time we have left. Both my mother and my nephew taught me that,” Ged says.