The Psychology of Dying: A Continuation, Not a Conclusion
“Death doesn’t have to be the end of the story. In this episode, I invite you to consider what dying might really be—from the inside out. Not just what we see, but what the dying may actually experience, and how that shifts the way we live, love, and let go.”
Transcript
Dying. It’s the one experience every living being shares, yet no one can truly describe. We watch it unfold in others, marking it as an end. But what if death isn’t an end at all? What if it’s only the continuation of a journey we don’t yet understand? Today, we’ll explore the psychology of the last days of life—not just from the perspective of those left behind, but through the lens of the dying themselves. Together, we’ll dive into the mysteries of consciousness, the stories science has uncovered, and what it means to live with the knowledge that this life is part of something far greater. This is The Psychology of Us with Professor RJ Starr—welcome to the conversation.
Hello, and welcome to The Psychology of Us. I’m Professor RJ Starr, and today we’re embarking on a profound exploration—one that touches every human life, yet remains shrouded in mystery.
We’re talking about the last days of life, the act of dying, and the questions it raises about consciousness, existence, and what it means to transition from this life. For most of us, dying is something we observe—an experience we witness as loved ones pass. We mourn, we grieve, and we assign meaning to what we see. But what if death, as we understand it, isn’t the end? What if the person who is dying experiences something entirely different—something we can only begin to imagine?
In this episode, we’ll explore the psychology of death from two perspectives: the living who witness it and the dying who might be undergoing something far more complex than the cessation of life. Along the way, we’ll dive into psychological theories, personal reflections, and even some thought-provoking case studies that challenge the way we view mortality.
Together, we’ll ask questions that go beyond the observable. Is death truly the final chapter? Or is it part of a greater continuum—one that invites us to rethink everything we believe about life and consciousness?
So, let’s take this journey together. Because in understanding the act of dying, we just might uncover deeper truths about what it means to live.
Section 1: Death as Seen by the Living
Death, for those left behind, is a moment frozen in time—a definitive end that reshapes their world. It’s the loss of a presence, a voice, a touch. Yet, what we experience as the living may tell us more about ourselves than about the person who has passed.
Psychologists have long explored how the human mind processes death. Our understanding often begins with Elisabeth Kübler-Ross’s five stages of grief: denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. This framework captures the emotional turbulence that accompanies loss, but it’s rooted in the perspective of the living. These stages reflect our struggle to integrate the absence of someone into the fabric of our lives—a struggle that begins well before the physical act of dying.
Consider the phenomenon of anticipatory grief. Families of terminally ill loved ones often begin mourning long before the final breath. They watch the decline, bracing for the inevitable, while simultaneously clinging to hope. This tension between holding on and letting go illustrates how deeply we, as observers, impose our own narrative on the act of dying. For the living, death becomes a mirror, reflecting fears, regrets, and unfulfilled desires.
Now, think about attachment theory. John Bowlby’s research on attachment bonds helps explain why loss feels so profoundly disruptive. When a loved one dies, the attachment system that once provided security is abruptly severed. It’s not just the absence of the person; it’s the loss of what they represented—a source of safety, connection, and love. For those left behind, death becomes a psychological rupture, forcing them to reorient their world in its wake.
But beyond personal grief lies a broader cultural narrative. Terror Management Theory, developed by Jeff Greenberg, Sheldon Solomon, and Tom Pyszczynski, offers a compelling lens to understand why humans respond to death as they do. This theory posits that much of human behavior is driven by a need to manage the existential terror of knowing we will one day die. We create cultural systems—rituals, beliefs, and practices—to give death meaning and a sense of order. From funeral rites to memorial traditions, these behaviors help the living process the incomprehensible.
Let’s consider a story. A woman named Evelyn cared for her husband, Robert, as he battled a terminal illness. In his final days, Evelyn described feeling as though she were standing on the edge of a cliff, watching him slip further away. For her, Robert’s death was not just a singular event; it was a culmination of tiny losses that had occurred over months—his ability to walk, to speak, to recognize her face. Each moment brought its own grief, and by the time Robert passed, Evelyn felt as though she had already lived through his death a hundred times.
Evelyn’s experience illustrates a profound truth: for the living, death often begins long before the final moment. It is not a single event but a series of experiences that unfold as we observe and anticipate what we cannot control.
What’s fascinating, though, is how this observational experience shapes the narrative of death. The living see it as an ending—a stark and undeniable conclusion. But what if this perception is incomplete? What if the act of dying is experienced entirely differently by the person transitioning? We’ll explore that in the next section, but for now, let’s consider this: the way we view death is shaped not only by the event itself but by our own psychological need to make sense of it.
Perhaps this is why we often turn to rituals and shared expressions of grief—they help us close a chapter we can never fully understand. Yet even as we seek closure, we are left with questions. Is death really an ending? Or is it something we, as the living, have framed in ways that make sense to us but may not reflect the truth for the person who has passed?
It’s here, at the intersection of observation and experience, that we begin to uncover the profound complexities of dying. For while the living see death as finality, the act of dying might tell an entirely different story.
Section 2: The Subjective Experience of the Dying Person
For those observing death, it often seems like an abrupt end, a curtain falling on the final act of a person’s life. But what about the person who is dying? What is their experience? Does it align with the finality the living so readily attribute to it? Or could it be something entirely different—something we’re only beginning to understand?
To explore this, let’s first consider the limits of what we know. The subjective experience of dying is inherently elusive; after all, those who pass cannot tell us what it was like. Yet, glimpses from near-death experiences (NDEs), psychological studies, and anecdotal reports from those in palliative care provide compelling clues.
Near-death experiences are a fascinating entry point into this discussion. Psychologist Bruce Greyson, a leading researcher in this field, has documented thousands of cases where individuals clinically pronounced dead—or close to it—report strikingly similar phenomena. These include sensations of peace, detachment from the physical body, movement through a tunnel, encounters with light, and feelings of profound love or unity. What’s intriguing is that these experiences often occur in the absence of brain activity, challenging the notion that consciousness is entirely tied to the physical body.
One case involved a man named Michael, who suffered cardiac arrest and was resuscitated after several minutes. Michael later described hovering above his body, watching doctors frantically work to revive him. He recalled feeling no fear, only calm, as though he were merely observing something happening to someone else. More profoundly, Michael described a sense of being drawn toward a light—a light that felt inviting and familiar. Though he was ultimately revived, he no longer feared death, believing it to be a transition rather than an end.
These accounts echo themes found in Viktor Frankl’s logotherapy, which emphasizes the human need to find meaning, even in the face of death. For many individuals nearing the end of life, the experience is not one of fear or resistance but of acceptance and reflection. In hospice settings, patients often report a heightened sense of clarity about what truly matters—love, relationships, and the legacy they leave behind.
Consider a study conducted by psychologist Kenneth Doka, which explored the psychological stages of dying. Doka found that many individuals at the end of life experience what he called ‘transcendence’—a shift from a focus on physical survival to a deeper connection with the spiritual, the symbolic, or the eternal. Dying individuals often describe dreams or visions of deceased loved ones, peaceful landscapes, or even a sense of being prepared for what comes next. These experiences suggest that the act of dying might not feel like a conclusion but like stepping into another phase of existence.
This brings us to an intriguing question: Do dying individuals always know they are dying? Research suggests the answer is complicated. In some cases, particularly with sudden death or altered states of consciousness, the individual may not recognize what is happening. This aligns with reports from NDE survivors who describe seamless transitions—one moment they are in the physical world, the next they are not.
From a psychological perspective, this could be explained by the brain’s protective mechanisms. When faced with extreme trauma, the mind may shield itself by altering perception, creating a sense of detachment or timelessness. But what if it’s not just psychological? What if this seamless experience hints at something more—an inherent continuity of consciousness that persists beyond the physical?
Here, we can draw from Carl Jung’s concept of the collective unconscious. Jung believed that the psyche contains universal elements shared across humanity—archetypes, symbols, and a deep connection to something greater. Could the act of dying tap into this collective unconscious, allowing individuals to experience a state of unity rather than separation?
Let’s revisit Evelyn, the woman from the previous section who cared for her dying husband, Robert. In his final hours, Robert—who had been largely unresponsive—suddenly opened his eyes and looked directly at Evelyn. He smiled, uttered her name, and said, ‘It’s so beautiful.’ Moments later, he passed. Evelyn described feeling as though Robert had seen or understood something she couldn’t—a glimpse of what lies beyond. For Robert, dying did not appear to be an end but a revelation.
Stories like these remind us that the subjective experience of the dying may be vastly different from how the living perceive it. Where we see finality, they may feel continuity. Where we see loss, they may feel connection.
So, what might this mean for how we understand death? If dying is not an abrupt cessation but a transition, does that change how we live? And what does it reveal about consciousness itself?
These are questions we’ll explore further as we delve into the possibility that dying is less about ending and more about moving into something we cannot yet comprehend—a transition that might even transcend the dimensions we currently inhabit. Because if dying is a continuation, then perhaps it’s not death at all—but simply the next step in a far greater journey.
Section 3: Multidimensional Perspectives on Dying
When we think about death, we often imagine it as the final chapter in a linear story—a definitive end to a life contained within the boundaries of the physical world. But what if this perspective is incomplete? What if death, rather than an end, is a shift—one that moves us into dimensions of existence we cannot yet see or fully understand?
Let’s begin with the work of Carl Jung, whose theories offer a compelling entry point into the idea of multidimensionality. Jung proposed that beyond the personal unconscious—the reservoir of our own memories and experiences—exists the collective unconscious, a shared pool of archetypes and universal symbols that connects all of humanity. Jung saw death not as a conclusion but as a process of integration, where the ego dissolves and the individual psyche reunites with this vast, collective whole.
Jung’s writings often explored the symbolic nature of death. He described dreams and visions of his patients near the end of life, many of which reflected themes of transition—crossing rivers, ascending mountains, or passing through doors. These symbols suggest that the psyche may understand death not as annihilation but as a journey into a greater, unified state of being. If we accept Jung’s view, then dying is less about ceasing to exist and more about returning to a fundamental source of connection that transcends the individual self.
This brings us to the idea of multidimensionality, a concept that stretches beyond psychology into fields like physics and metaphysics. In recent years, theories of quantum consciousness have gained traction, offering a bridge between science and the mysteries of existence. These theories, inspired by quantum mechanics, suggest that consciousness may not be confined to the brain or even the body. Instead, it could exist as a fundamental, non-local phenomenon—one that interacts with the physical world but is not bound by it.
One of the most intriguing proponents of this idea is Stuart Hameroff, an anesthesiologist, and Roger Penrose, a physicist, who developed the Orch-OR theory of consciousness. They propose that consciousness arises from quantum processes within the microtubules of brain cells, and when the body dies, these quantum states may persist. In this view, death is not an erasure of consciousness but a release—an entry into a broader, multidimensional field.
Consider this: if consciousness is indeed non-local, then what we perceive as death might simply be a transition from one state of being to another. The analogy often used is that of a radio signal. When the physical body, like a radio, ceases to function, the signal of consciousness doesn’t vanish—it continues to exist, possibly in another dimension or form.
To make this idea more relatable, let’s return to a real-life story. A hospice nurse once described the final days of a patient named Helen. In the hours leading up to her death, Helen began speaking as though she were communicating with someone unseen. She smiled and gestured toward the corner of the room, where she claimed to see her late husband. Her words were calm, confident: ‘He’s waiting for me. I’m ready now.’ For Helen, the boundary between life and death seemed to dissolve, replaced by a seamless transition into what she perceived as another state of existence.
Experiences like Helen’s align with Jung’s notion of synchronicity—meaningful coincidences that reveal connections between the inner and outer worlds. Could it be that as individuals near death, their consciousness begins to align with dimensions or realities that are normally hidden from us? Jung believed that death, much like life, was a moment of profound transformation—one that unveils the interconnectedness of all things.
Another angle to consider is the philosophical concept of panpsychism, which suggests that consciousness is a fundamental feature of the universe, much like energy or matter. If this is true, then the death of the physical body might not extinguish consciousness but instead change its expression. Just as water can shift from liquid to vapor, consciousness might continue in a form beyond our current understanding.
To explore this further, imagine how multidimensional existence could reshape our view of death. In physics, string theory suggests the presence of multiple dimensions beyond the three we perceive. What if death allows us to step into one of these dimensions, much like moving from one room to another? For the dying person, the transition might feel seamless, as though they are continuing a journey rather than ending it.
These ideas don’t just challenge our understanding of death—they challenge our understanding of life. If consciousness exists beyond the physical, then the boundaries we perceive between life and death might be an illusion. And if death is a transition rather than a termination, then how we approach the final days of life—our own and those of our loved ones—might change profoundly.
For the living, this perspective offers both comfort and wonder. It suggests that the person who has passed isn’t gone but has simply moved beyond the limits of our perception. For the dying, it invites the possibility that what lies ahead is not a void but a continuation, a new chapter in a story that transcends physical existence.
As we move forward, let’s keep this question in mind: If death is not the end, but a doorway to something greater, how might that change the way we live? Because when we begin to see life and death as part of a continuum, the fear of finality is replaced by a profound sense of connection to something vast, enduring, and beautifully mysterious.
Section 4: What This Perspective Means for the Living
If death is not an end but a transition—an entry into something greater or more expansive—then what does that mean for those of us who are still here? How does this perspective shape how we live, how we grieve, and how we find meaning in the face of loss?
Let’s start with existential psychology, which has long argued that an awareness of mortality is central to the human experience. Irvin Yalom, a pioneer in this field, suggests that confronting the reality of death can be one of the most liberating experiences of our lives. In his work on death awareness, Yalom describes how facing our impermanence helps us strip away distractions and false priorities, allowing us to focus on what truly matters.
Think about it: when we accept that life is finite—or at least that this phase of it is—we become less preoccupied with superficial concerns. We stop delaying our dreams, we mend fractured relationships, and we embrace the present moment with greater intensity. Yalom calls this the ‘gift of mortality,’ a paradox in which the very thing we fear becomes the source of our most profound freedom.
Take the story of a man named David, who lost his best friend in an unexpected accident. For months, David was consumed by grief, haunted by the things left unsaid and the plans left undone. But over time, something shifted. David began reevaluating his own life, asking himself questions like, ‘What would I regret if my life ended tomorrow?’ The loss of his friend, while devastating, became a catalyst for change. He left a job he found unfulfilling, reconciled with estranged family members, and made a point to travel—a dream he had always postponed.
David’s story illustrates the transformative power of embracing mortality. When we confront the reality of death, we are forced to live with greater authenticity, prioritizing what aligns with our deepest values. In this way, death is not just an end—it’s a teacher, reminding us to make the most of our time and connections.
But what about those left grieving? How do we process the pain of loss in light of this perspective? Here, Resilience Theory offers a framework for understanding how individuals find strength in the face of adversity. Resilience doesn’t mean avoiding grief or pain; it means navigating through it, finding ways to adapt and grow even as we mourn.
When we interpret death not as a final separation but as a transition, it can provide a sense of continuity and connection. For instance, many people find comfort in the idea that their loved ones still exist in some form—whether in memory, in spirit, or in a dimension beyond our perception. This belief often leads to rituals and practices that foster resilience, such as lighting candles, keeping a loved one’s belongings close, or even talking to them as though they are still present. These acts create a bridge between the living and the departed, reinforcing the idea that the bonds of love are not easily broken.
In some cases, this perspective does more than help individuals cope—it can lead to profound personal growth. This brings us to the concept of Post-Traumatic Growth, which describes the positive changes that can occur in the aftermath of loss or trauma. Reflecting on death as a transition rather than an end can open the door to spiritual and psychological growth.
For example, a woman named Maria lost her mother after a long illness. In the months that followed, Maria found herself drawn to her mother’s journals, where she discovered reflections on love, family, and faith. Through this, Maria not only deepened her understanding of her mother’s life but also began to reevaluate her own. She started volunteering at a hospice, finding meaning in supporting others at the end of life. Maria’s grief didn’t disappear, but it transformed into a source of purpose and strength.
Post-traumatic growth often involves a reorientation of priorities, a newfound appreciation for life, and a deeper sense of connection to others. When we see death not as annihilation but as a continuation, it invites us to imagine how we, too, are part of something greater. This perspective can turn loss into an opportunity for growth, reminding us that even in the face of death, life offers endless possibilities for meaning and transformation.
So, what does this all mean for how we live? It means recognizing that the awareness of death isn’t something to fear but to embrace. It’s a reminder to live authentically, to cherish our connections, and to seek growth even in the face of pain. It’s an invitation to view grief not as an end but as a bridge to deeper understanding and resilience.
In the words of Yalom, ‘Though the physicality of death destroys us, the idea of death saves us.’ By confronting death head-on, we free ourselves to live fully, unburdened by illusions of permanence. And by viewing death as a transition, we find comfort in the possibility that what we love never truly disappears—it simply changes form, continuing in ways we can’t yet fully grasp.
As we reflect on these ideas, consider this: How might your life change if you embraced mortality not as an enemy, but as a guide? How might your relationships deepen, your priorities shift, and your sense of purpose expand if you viewed death as part of a continuum, rather than an end?
In this perspective lies the power to live not in fear, but in freedom—to see every moment as an opportunity to connect, to grow, and to leave a legacy of meaning for those who come after us. Because when we embrace the truth of death, we discover the fullness of life.
Closing Reflections
Death, as challenging as it is to confront, holds within it an extraordinary power: the power to remind us of life’s beauty and fragility. When we understand death not as an end, but as part of a larger journey, it invites us to live with greater intention, clarity, and presence.
Positive psychology teaches us to focus on what brings joy, meaning, and fulfillment to our lives. In this context, the awareness of death can serve as a profound motivator to cherish the moments we have. It’s a reminder that life’s fleeting nature isn’t a flaw—it’s what makes it precious. The sunsets we stop to admire, the laughter we share with loved ones, the quiet moments of reflection—all of these take on greater significance when we realize they are not guaranteed.
Gratitude, a cornerstone of positive psychology, becomes even more powerful in the face of mortality. By cultivating a habit of gratitude, we shift our focus from what we fear losing to what we are fortunate to have. Reflecting on the people, experiences, and even challenges that have shaped us helps us embrace the impermanence of life with a sense of peace. After all, to love, to connect, and to grow is to experience life in its fullness—and that includes its fragility.
Mindfulness, too, offers a way to meet the reality of death without fear. By grounding ourselves in the present moment, we learn to let go of the anxieties that stem from uncertainty about the future. Instead of fixating on what might be or what has already passed, we can fully experience what is. In doing so, we come to see that the present—the only moment we truly have—is enough. Mindfulness allows us to embrace life as it unfolds, moment by moment, without resistance.
This perspective aligns beautifully with Carl Jung’s idea of integration. For Jung, the journey of life is one of wholeness—a process of bringing together all aspects of the self, including those we fear or avoid. Death, in this sense, is not separate from life but a natural and necessary part of it. It’s a chapter in the story of becoming whole, a step toward integrating the known and the unknown.
Jung often spoke of death as a return to the collective unconscious, where the individual self dissolves into something far greater. This is not an erasure but a reunion, a homecoming to the source of all existence. To integrate death into our understanding of life is to recognize that it, too, holds meaning and purpose. It is not the opposite of life but its complement—together, they form a complete picture of what it means to exist.
As we close this exploration, I invite you to reflect on what death teaches us about living. How might your days be different if you saw every moment as a gift, every connection as sacred, and every experience as part of a greater whole? How might the awareness of life’s fragility inspire you to live with more courage, gratitude, and love?
Perhaps the greatest lesson of death is this: it is not something to be feared but understood. It reminds us to let go of the trivial, to embrace the meaningful, and to live fully while we are here. And when the time comes for us to cross that threshold, perhaps we, too, will find that it is not an end but a continuation—a step toward the wholeness that has always been within us.
Thank you for joining me on this journey into the psychology of the last days of life. It’s a conversation that touches us all, and I hope it has brought you a sense of wonder, reflection, and perhaps even peace. If you enjoyed this episode, please take a moment to follow, subscribe, and share the podcast with your friends. Your support helps us grow and reach more people who can benefit from these conversations. And if you have questions, feedback, or ideas for future episodes, I’d love to hear from you! You can email me at ProfRJStarr@outlook.com.
Death, when viewed not as an end but as part of the ongoing journey of existence, becomes less something to fear and more something to understand. It teaches us to value the fragile beauty of life, to live with gratitude for each fleeting moment, and to embrace the unknown with curiosity and courage. By integrating death into our understanding of what it means to be whole, we honor both its mystery and its purpose. And perhaps, in doing so, we come to realize that the story of life does not end with a period, but continues, evolving in ways we may never fully grasp. In the face of this profound truth, let us live boldly, love deeply, and find peace in the timeless continuum of our shared existence.
Until next time, thank you for listening to The Psychology of Us with Professor RJ Starr.