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🥀 Module 2 — Who Is Bronnie Ware? | Deathbed Regrets Course

15 minutes ago
7 min read
Back view of a woman with short, curly gray hair seated in a comfortable chair near a sunlit window. Surrounded by books, plants, and personal photographs, she appears quietly reflective in a warm home setting, representing Bronnie Ware's work exploring the life lessons and regrets commonly shared by people nearing the end of life.

Free Course by Everything IFS Academy | Death and Dying Series

Module 2 — Who Is Bronnie Ware?


Every field of human knowledge has its unlikely founders, and the study of deathbed regrets has one of the unlikeliest of all. The most famous account of what the dying regret was not produced by a physician, a psychologist, or a university. It came from an Australian woman with no formal qualifications, no medical training, and no plan, who spent years sitting beside dying people in their own homes and simply paid attention to what they told her. Her name is Bronnie Ware, and this lesson tells her story, because the story of the woman and the story of the list cannot be separated, and because knowing how this knowledge was gathered is part of knowing what it is.



The Unlikely Caregiver

Bronnie Ware did not set out to keep company with the dying. By her own account, she spent years in work that paid the bills and starved the spirit, much of it in banking, and reached a point many people reach and few act on: she went looking for work with heart, without much idea of what that would turn out to mean.


What it turned out to mean surprised her as much as anyone. Despite having no qualifications in the field and no previous experience, she found her way into palliative caregiving, living in the homes of people who had gone home to die. Not hospital work, with its shifts and rotations and crowds of staff, but the older and more intimate arrangement: one caregiver, one dying person, one house, around the clock. Her patients were typically in roughly their last three to twelve weeks of life. She bathed them, fed them, sat with them through the long nights, and kept them company through the strangest and most honest season a human being ever passes through.


It is worth pausing on what she was not. She was not running a study. She had no clipboard, no hypothesis, no research grant. She was a caregiver who happened to be the kind of person people talk to. Everything that follows grew out of that, which is both the limitation of her knowledge and, as this lesson will come to, its peculiar strength.



What the Bedside Years Were Like

To understand why dying people told Bronnie Ware things they had told no one else in their lives, it helps to picture the range at which she worked.


A home death at three to twelve weeks out is a world with very specific weather. The medical battles are mostly over. The visitors come in waves and then thin out, because most people, through no fault of their own, do not know how to keep visiting someone who is dying. What remains is long stretches of quiet: the afternoons, the small routines, the 2 a.m. wakefulness when the house is dark and the only other person awake is the caregiver in the chair. Conversations at that range are unlike conversations anywhere else. The dying person has nothing left to win, nothing left to protect, no image left to maintain, and a listener who will carry their words for only a few more weeks. The combination produces a kind of honesty that even fifty-year marriages sometimes never reach.

Ware described watching her patients move through the whole emotional landscape of dying: denial, fear, anger, remorse, and eventually acceptance, in their own orders and at their own speeds. And inside those long honest hours, she began noticing something. When the conversation turned to looking back, when she asked, or when they simply began telling her, whether there was anything they would have done differently, the answers were not infinitely varied. The same handful of regrets kept walking through the door, in house after house, year after year, from men and women whose lives had nothing else in common. She started writing them down.



The Blog Post Heard Around the World

In 2009, Ware published what she had noticed on her small personal blog, called Inspiration and Chai, in a post listing the regrets she had heard most often at the bedside. By every reasonable expectation it should have been read by a few hundred people and forgotten.


Instead it detonated. The post was read by more than three million people in its first year and has been read many millions of times since. It was passed from inbox to inbox, translated, reprinted, debated, and quoted from pulpits and boardrooms alike. Publishers came looking for the woman behind it, and in 2012 her memoir, The Top Five Regrets of the Dying, was published, weaving the list together with her own story and the stories of the patients who taught it to her. The book became an international bestseller, translated into more than thirty languages. A caregiver with no credentials had written one of the most widely read documents about dying produced in this century.



The Five Regrets as She Reported Them

Here is the list itself, in Ware's own ordering, presented in this lesson the way she presented it: as findings from her bedsides. Each of these has its own full lesson in this course, where it is opened and actually taught. Here they are named as what she found.


  1. I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me. This was, in her account, the most common regret of all, the one she heard more than any other.


  2. I wish I hadn't worked so hard. This one, she reported, came from nearly every male patient she cared for, men of a generation whose lives were built around providing.


  3. I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings. The regret of a lifetime of swallowed truth, which she found had quietly shaped entire existences.


  4. I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends. She wrote of patients in their final weeks trying and failing to track down friends they had let slip away decades earlier.


  5. I wish that I had let myself be happier. The one she found people discovered last, often only at the very end.



What Kind of Knowledge This Is

A course that respects its readers owes them honesty about the nature of its sources, so here it is, stated plainly.


Ware's list is not a scientific survey. There was no sample size, no control group, no peer review. It is the pattern noticed by one devoted witness across years of bedsides, filtered through one set of ears and one heart. A different caregiver in a different country might have ordered the list differently or heard a sixth regret the loudest. Anyone who presents the five regrets as settled science is overclaiming, and this course will not do that.


And yet the list has held up in a way few unscientific documents ever do. Hospice nurses, palliative physicians, chaplains, and death doulas around the world read it and said, almost in unison, yes, that is what we hear too. The regret research coming out of universities, which this course teaches in its own lesson, turned out to rhyme with her list in striking ways, particularly in what kind of regrets dominate at the end. Bedside knowledge is its own species of knowledge: gathered slowly, at close range, from people with no reason left to lie. It deserves neither blind faith nor dismissal. It deserves exactly what this course gives it, attribution, respect, and company from the research that came after.



Her Deeper Observation

The five regrets made Bronnie Ware famous, but she always insisted the list was not the most important thing she learned. Two other observations from her years at the bedside matter even more to this course, and both are attributed here to her, as her testimony.


The first is about growth. Ware wrote that people grow enormously when faced with their own mortality, and that those years taught her never to underestimate what a human being remains capable of, even in the final weeks. She watched people change at the end of life, sometimes profoundly, at a speed that would seem impossible anywhere else. The capacity to grow, in her experience, does not expire before the person does.


The second is the remarkable one. Looking back over all her patients, all those houses and final weeks, Ware reported that "every single patient found their peace before they departed". Every one. Not because every regret was fixed, every rift mended, every dream retrieved; that was plainly not the case. They found peace anyway, by some road, each in their own time.


This course leans on that claim carefully and openly. It is one witness's testimony, not a guarantee, and a different witness might report differently. But it comes from someone who was actually in the rooms, over and over, with people whose regrets were as real and as unrepairable as anyone's. From the person who heard more deathbed regrets than almost anyone alive, the report is not that regret wins. The report is that peace does. Everything this course teaches about repair and completion in its later lessons stands on the possibility her testimony holds open.



The List's Afterlife

Why did a blog post by an unknown caregiver circle the planet? Because it arrived carrying something people are starved for: trustworthy news from the one frontier everybody is headed toward and nobody reports back from. The dying see a whole life at once, the way the living never quite can, and Ware had effectively carried their findings back across the border. Reading the list, millions of people had the same uncanny experience: it read less like information about the dying and more like mail addressed to themselves, arriving, for once, while there was still time to answer it.


The list has since become permanent furniture in the culture. It is cited in medical journals and commencement speeches, taught to hospice volunteers, and pressed into the hands of people fresh from terrible diagnoses. And it opened a conversation this entire course continues: if these are the regrets, what exactly is regret, why does dying turn its volume up, and what can be done about it, in the world and in the heart, while anything at all remains on the clock? Those questions, one at a time, are where this course goes from here.



Disclaimer: Everything IFS Academy is an independent educational platform and is not affiliated with, endorsed by, or connected to the IFS Institute. While we strive for accuracy, errors can occur, and users are encouraged to cross-reference critical information. These courses, lessons, skills, and practices are offered for educational and self-reflection purposes only. They do not constitute therapy, mental health treatment, clinical training, or crisis support, and they should not be used as a substitute for professional mental health care.


Crisis Support: 🚨 If you are experiencing a mental health crisis, feel unsafe, feel at risk of harming yourself or someone else, or feel too overwhelmed to safely use self-directed practices, please pause this material and reach out for immediate support. Contact a licensed mental health professional, call or text 988 in the U.S. or Canada, or use your local emergency or crisis resources.

 
 
 

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