In this episode of The Diary Of A CEO, Steven Bartlett speaks with Dr. Christopher Kerr about his decades of experience working with dying patients. Dr. Kerr shares research revealing that nearly 90% of dying patients experience vivid dreams or visions—often of deceased loved ones—that provide profound comfort and suggest consciousness may transcend physical death. He addresses common misconceptions about dying, explaining that pain is typically manageable, patients focus on peace rather than regrets, and natural biological changes reduce the need for food and water.
The conversation explores what truly matters at life's end: relationships and love consistently overshadow achievements and material success. Dr. Kerr discusses how dying can paradoxically be a period of psychological healing, how the dying process shapes grief for surviving family members, and the disconnect between where people wish to die versus where they actually do. The episode offers practical insights into understanding dying as a gradual process and emphasizes the importance of acceptance, presence, and open communication.

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Christopher Kerr reports that nearly 90% of dying patients experience intense dreams or visions that feel completely real—patients consistently rate their realism at 10 out of 10. Unlike ordinary dreams that require interpretation, these end-of-life visions are direct and clear, leaving patients with a profound sense of comfort and knowing. Patients reject calling them dreams, instead describing them as events or happenings. Steven Bartlett notes that 80% of healthcare professionals have witnessed these phenomena in end-of-life settings.
These experiences intensify as death approaches and elicit no fear, even in patients with advanced cognitive decline. Remarkably, 50% occur while patients are awake, with individuals sometimes visibly interacting with deceased loved ones as if they're present in the room.
A consistent theme is the presence of deceased loved ones who offered unconditional love. Patients report detailed, sensory-rich encounters—smelling perfume, hearing voices, tasting food, or engaging in conversation. These aren't static memories but dynamic, immersive experiences that provide immense comfort and alleviate existential fear.
Kerr's understanding has evolved from viewing these as rekindled memories to recognizing features suggesting ongoing consciousness that transcends time. He's cautious about claiming proof of an afterlife but is convinced that love endures after physical death and that connections formed by unconditional love persist. This points to a shared consciousness that becomes more accessible as death nears.
Psychedelics like psilocybin or LSD produce similar effects in terminally ill patients, easing fear of death and enhancing connection to something larger, paralleling natural end-of-life visions.
Bartlett cites research showing 53% of Americans have felt visited by a dead family member, with 34% experiencing such presences in the past year alone. Significantly, this spiritual connection doesn't depend on religious affiliation—Kerr observes that formal religious belief doesn't alter these end-of-life experiences, suggesting a universal dimension of consciousness that transcends physical existence.
Kerr debunks the expectation that dying is severely painful, asserting that pain is rarely significant and can be effectively managed when present. The problem is that healthcare providers seldom communicate clearly about what to expect. Honest discussions, he notes, don't remove hope but restore agency and reassurance, while silence fills the gap with misinformation and unnecessary dread.
While Bartlett references Bronnie Ware's work suggesting dying patients harbor deep regrets, Kerr offers a contrasting view based on decades of direct experience. He finds that dying patients let go of negative reflections and instead focus on family, home, spiritual peace, and what defines them. Children especially don't express regret but seek comfort and acceptance. Dying becomes a "truthful place" where pretense fades and emphasis shifts away from life's negatives.
Kerr explains that as death approaches, people naturally stop eating and drinking without pain or distress. The body undergoes biological dimming, reducing its need for food and water—much like resting when sick. This natural process doesn't need intervention, though misconceptions often lead to unnecessary guilt among families.
Bartlett discusses a study showing that while medical students correctly predicted pain management as important, they mistakenly thought conflict resolution and searching for meaning would rank highly. In reality, dying patients are typically at peace with unresolved issues. Most importantly, students failed to recognize that a top priority for dying patients is not being a burden to family, revealing a disconnect perpetuated by lack of direct engagement with dying patients in medical training.
Research with dying patients consistently reveals that relationships, love, and connection overshadow achievements or legacy at life's end.
Kerr describes a notable transformation: as death nears, patients become less self-focused and more concerned about their loved ones' well-being. Their primary concern is avoiding being a burden on family. As hope for cure fades, hope transforms into wanting comfort, time with family, and above all, others' well-being. This selflessness appears even in dying children, who exhibit quiet courage and care for those around them.
Kerr states that dying patients overwhelmingly want to be around friends and family—"fundamental here is just relationships." The meaning in life lies not in accomplishment but in relationships. Dying often facilitates reconciliation and dissolves old grievances, with families coming to the forefront. In final moments, it's the presence and love of those closest—not professional legacies—that matter most.
When dying patients express regrets, they mention not fully experiencing life or not loving well, rather than lacking achievements. Kerr notes that the best version of oneself is defined by being a good family member or friend—roles through which we become valuable to those who matter. Research shows that those who lived simple but loving lives died with peace, while those deprived of love experienced emptiness.
At life's end, people seek existential or spiritual peace rather than strict religious adherence. Kerr explains that peace is about acceptance and belonging, not fear of judgment. Research shows religious belief alone doesn't alter end-of-life experiences; instead, spiritual fulfillment comes through forgiveness and reconciliation with oneself, others, and the universe.
Kerr points out a stark disconnect between what people pursue—promotions, wealth, status, possessions—and what matters at life's end. Despite intellectually understanding that relationships matter most, people allocate disproportionate energy to achievement and material gain. The dying process strips away pretense, revealing belonging, connection, and love as the true sources of meaning. As Kerr concludes, "Live in a way that you can die well and that means loving well."
Kerr's research shows that dying can be a period of profound healing—not just for the dying, but for their loved ones as well.
Dying is paradoxically a time when people can be more spiritually and psychologically alive than ever. Kerr describes powerful cases: a veteran with PTSD finding peace through visions of fallen comrades after decades of failed therapy; a man who lost his arm as a child healing shame through visions affirming his worth; a mother doubting her parenting finding reassurance from deceased parents; and a criminal finding reconciliation with his estranged daughter through distressing visions that compelled him to seek forgiveness.
About 12% of dying patients experience distressing dreams or nightmares, frequently centered on unresolved traumas and past wrongs. Yet these challenging visions often catalyze significant psychological healing, enabling final reckonings and reconciliation that eluded patients throughout life. Dying opens a space where injuries can finally be addressed, allowing forgiveness, letting go of grudges, and releasing shame.
Kerr's research reveals that witnessing loved ones reconnect with deceased relatives or find peace through visions fundamentally changes grief. Families recall final moments infused with love and meaning rather than dominated by illness or loss. When a dying woman had an inner vision of holding her deceased infant, her spouse grieved very differently—that vision reframed her death as reunion rather than emptiness.
Even when patients become non-verbal, if families witness their loved one's inner peace, it transforms bereavement. The loved one's memory becomes imbued with wholeness and connection. Kerr's studies show these experiences help mourners view loss through a lens of continued connection—recognizing the deceased in their memories and ongoing relationships.
Kerr asserts that denying death—through avoidance or medicalization—causes "medical harm," robbing families of vital conversations and closure. A third of hospice patients die within seven days of arrival, often after long denial, which denies families time to say goodbye. Hospital deaths, especially in sterile ICU settings, dehumanize the dying and exacerbate grief, while home deaths foster communal grieving that is mutually supportive and healing.
Grief is about both what is lost and what remains. Over time, grief evolves into a lasting presence—the memory of the deceased shapes survivors' worldviews, relationships, and provides ongoing meaning. The art is to carry grief in one hand and gratitude in the other. When families witness peaceful, connected deaths, they're able to integrate grief with gratitude and recognize that life's impact endures because love transcends physical loss.
Kerr notes that while 80% of Americans wish to die at home, only 30% do so. This reflects heavy medicalization of dying and underinvestment in home and palliative care. People end up in hospitals receiving the death they fear most, with aggressive treatments that prolong suffering rather than enhance life or foster peaceful death.
Kerr distinguishes between dying, which is gradual, and death, which is a singular moment. Dying involves slow loss of function, similar to retreating to bed during illness. Most people die in sleep, so the most important sign is comfort in rest. Achieving good sleep at the end requires both physical comfort and psychological peace. Understanding dying as a process helps adjust expectations and focus on what yields comfort.
Hospice care prioritizes patients' wishes, making it more likely they'll die at home surrounded by familiar environments, pets, routines, and loved ones. This familiarity is vital to what matters most at the end of life, and the experience profoundly shapes both dying and bereavement.
Denial undermines agency and causes suffering by robbing individuals of time for important conversations. Kerr reports that a third of hospice patients die within seven days of admission—not because death comes suddenly, but because awareness arrives late due to avoidance. Acceptance allows patients and families to shift hope from cure to comfort and quality time together.
Kerr laments that death has become institutionalized and isolated rather than a shared community event. Witnessing death within a community context fosters shared grief and mutual support. The most important gift for a dying person, Kerr asserts, is the presence of loved ones. This presence not only shapes the dying person's final experience but also leaves a lasting, positive impact on the grief and healing of those left behind.
1-Page Summary
Christopher Kerr reports that nearly 90% of people approaching the end of their lives experience intense dreams or visions that are strikingly different from normal sleep dreaming. Patients rate the realism of these experiences at the maximum—always a 10 out of 10—expressing that the visions feel as if they actually happened. Unlike ordinary dreams, which are often metaphorical or fantastical and require interpretation, end-of-life visions are direct, clear, and leave patients with a distinct sense of knowing and comfort. Many patients struggle to find language for the beauty and intensity of what they experience, but the emotional impact is undeniable—they are left feeling put back together.
Patients reject the idea that these are ordinary dreams, instead referring to them as events or happenings, and even individuals who never dream or cannot recall dreams in life describe these as vivid and virtual. Importantly, these visions elicit no fear, instead transcending the awareness of impending death. This is observed even in cases of advanced cognitive decline—patients are not confused or distressed by their visions but comforted by them, distinguishing these episodes from delirium, which typically leaves people frightened and is characterized by disorganized thinking. Healthcare professionals, according to Steven Bartlett, confirm the widespread nature of these experiences, with 80% witnessing such phenomena in end-of-life settings.
The frequency and intensity of these experiences increase as death approaches, often becoming more immersive during the final weeks. Kerr describes dying as a kind of progressive sleep state, where the boundaries between waking and dreaming dissolve and patients often prefer their inner world to waking reality. Remarkably, 50% of such experiences occur while the patient is awake, with individuals sometimes visibly interacting with deceased loved ones or pets, as if they are present in the room.
A consistent theme in these visions is the presence of loved ones who have died, particularly those who offered unconditional love. Patients report detailed, sensory-rich encounters such as a 95-year-old, who lost his mother at age five, vividly smelling her perfume and hearing her voice decades later. Others describe tasting food prepared with a grandmother or feeling the presence of friends and family, sometimes even engaging in conversation or shared activities.
These interactions are not static images but dynamic, immersive experiences—there is communication and warmth, far beyond simply recalling a photograph. For example, a veteran with PTSD found deep healing in visions where he was comforted by fallen comrades. Children, too, report seeing animal companions or people they have not met, who signal that they are not alone and are loved. These experiences provide immense comfort, alleviating loneliness and existential fear.
Kerr’s understanding of these experiences has evolved. Initially, he saw them as the rekindling of memories, akin to looking at a treasured photograph. Over time, he observed features suggesting something more—an ongoing consciousness capable of accessing connections that transcend time. Patients often sense that deceased loved ones remain accessible as death nears; even decades after a loss, their presence endures and grows stronger at the end of life.
Kerr is cautious not to directly claim proof of an afterlife, but he is convinced by his research and experiences that love endures after physical death, and that connections formed by unconditional love are never ...
End-of-life Visions, Dreams, and Consciousness: Intense Near-Death Experiences and Their Implications For Consciousness and Afterlife
Christopher Kerr debunks the common expectation that pain is a predominant feature at the end of life. He asserts that pain is rarely significant during dying and, when present, can be effectively managed. Despite this reality, healthcare providers seldom communicate clearly about what patients and families should expect. Kerr highlights a troubling lack of conversation around suffering and the dying process, stating that the anticipated agony is often far worse than the actual experience. Honest discussions, he notes, are rare but necessary; contrary to common belief, these conversations do not remove hope but instead restore a sense of agency and reassurance for patients and their loved ones. Without these crucial exchanges between doctor and patient, a gap emerges that gets filled with misinformation and unnecessary dread.
Bartlett references Bronnie Ware’s work, which suggests that dying patients harbor deep regrets about missed opportunities. However, Kerr offers a contrasting, empiric viewpoint rooted in decades of direct experience and quantitative study. He finds that, rather than dwelling on regrets, dying patients let go of negative reflections on their lives. Their priorities center on family, home, spiritual peace, and the essence of what defines them as individuals. Kerr also points out that children, in particular, do not express regret or “what ifs”; instead, they seek comfort and acceptance as death approaches. Regrets tend to appear only in response to hypothetical questioning, not in the lived reality of the dying. Kerr is skeptical of the "regret literature," emphasizing that his encounters reveal people moving toward acceptance and peace rather than ruminating on past choices. For patients in their final days, dying becomes a "truthful place" where pretense fades and the emphasis shifts away from life’s negatives.
Kerr explains that as death approaches, it is natural for people to stop eating and drinking, and this process is neither painful nor distressing. The body undergoes a kind of biological dimming, reducing its need for food and water—much like the instinct to rest when sick. This change reflects the body’s transition and is not a situation that needs intervention. The widespread misconception that appetite loss at ...
Debunking Myths and Realities: Pain, Regret, and Patient Priorities In Final Days
Extensive research and direct observations with dying patients repeatedly reveal that, at the end of life, relationships, love, and connection with others overshadow achievements or concepts of legacy. The perspectives of those at the threshold of life and death strip away superficial pursuits and lay bare what truly matters to human flourishing.
Christopher Kerr describes a notable transformation as patients approach death: they become less self-focused and instead concentrate on the well-being of their loved ones. Patients’ primary concern is avoiding being a burden on their families and not interfering with their lives, even as they want to spend time together. “They want to spend time with them, but they don’t want to interfere with their living,” Kerr notes, emphasizing that “as people are close nearing the end of their life, they become more and more other focused.”
This shift aligns closely with research on happiness, which shows people derive greater meaning from helping others than from self-centered goals. As hope for cure fades, hope itself doesn’t disappear; it simply changes shape, becoming hope for comfort, time with family, and above all, hope for others’ well-being. Families can offer crucial assurance by aligning wishes with the dying person’s hopes, making clear that presence is valued and the patient is not a burden.
Notably, this selflessness is pronounced even in dying children, who often exhibit quiet courage, care for those around them, and protective self-restraint to spare loved ones distress. Kerr recounts cases, such as a young girl who avoided pain medication in her mother’s presence, or a Syrian child who said his goodbyes and offered life lessons, demonstrating an inward transformation toward caring for others above themselves.
For patients at the end of life, time with loved ones emerges as the most important priority. Kerr states unequivocally that “they want to be around friends and family. That’s what they care about. Again, fundamental here is just relationships.” The meaning in life lies not in individual accomplishment but in the richness of our relationships. Even when patients seem isolated, in their internal experiences and dreams, they feel surrounded by those they love.
During dying, families and relationships come to the forefront, often facilitating reconciliation and the dissolution of old grievances. As Kerr observes, “What seemed like an issue of contention goes away… so there’s this healing process that’s innate to dying.” In the final moments, it is the presence, opinions, and love of those closest to the patient—not their professional legacies or accolades—that matter most.
In Final Moments, People Value Loved Ones' Presence and Opinions Over Legacies or Accomplishments
When asked about regrets, dying patients most often mention not fully experiencing life or not having loved well, rather than lacking monumental achievements. Even young people facing death, despite being “robbed of life,” frequently display quiet confidence rooted in meaningful connections. Obsessing over purpose and legacy, according to Kerr, often masks the truth that the core of meaning is being a good family member or friend.
Kerr repeatedly affirms that the best version of oneself is defined by being a son, daughter, sibling, partner, or friend—those roles through which we become valuable to those who matter. He notes, “If you think of the best parts of yourself, it was always in the context of love.” Research also reveals that those who lived simple but loving lives died with peace, while those deprived of love, such as a woman who was unloved and misused since childhood, experienced emptiness and regret in their final moments.
At life’s end, people overwhelmingly seek existential or spiritual peace rather than strict adherence to religious doctrine. Kerr explains th ...
What Matters At Life's End: Relationships and Love Over Achievement and Legacy, Based On Research With Dying Patients
Christopher Kerr and his research illuminate how dying can be a period of profound psychological, emotional, and spiritual healing—not just for the dying, but for their loved ones as well. Through end-of-life experiences and visions, patients often resolve longstanding trauma and transform the nature of bereavement for those left behind.
Dying is not only a process of physical decline, but paradoxically, a time when people can be more spiritually and psychologically alive than ever. Kerr’s work draws parallels between the growth experienced in crises like war—where adversity forges camaraderie—and the transformations observed at the end of life, measurable even in the last days.
One powerful case involves a veteran suffering from decades of PTSD and survivor’s guilt. Despite extensive therapy and medication, peace eluded him for most of his life. In his final days, visions of reconnecting with his fallen comrades brought comfort and resolution, achieving healing that lifelong medical intervention never could.
Another man, who lost his arm at age eight and spent his life wrestling with feelings of inadequacy and shame about his ability to provide for others, found healing in the end. He envisioned all those he had worked with coming to him and telling him he was the best worker they had known, reuniting him with a sense of purpose and worthiness.
A mother, overwhelmed by doubts about her parenting because her child was in prison, was visited in a vision by her deceased parents. They reassured her she was loved and had been a good parent—a peace unattainable in life.
Another stark example involves a man who spent most of his life in prison, carrying deep regret for his actions, including violent crimes committed in self-defense. In his dying days, distressing dreams induced deep reckoning and remorse. These visions compelled him to ask for forgiveness, leading to emotional reconciliation with his estranged daughter. The experience transformed both of them; she spent every night by his side, and he died peacefully, emotionally healed.
Not all end-of-life visions are comforting; about 12% of dying patients experience distressing dreams or nightmares. Kerr emphasizes that these challenging visions frequently center around unresolved traumas and past wrongs. Yet, their very distress often catalyzes significant psychological healing, enabling final reckonings and reconciliation that had eluded patients throughout life. These visions demonstrate the human capacity for deep truth and reconciliation near death, constituting a kind of “final justice” that restores wholeness.
Individuals who experience these negative visions are often those with injury or harm for having lived. Dying opens a space where these injuries can finally be addressed, allowing what seemed impossible—be it forgiveness, letting go of grudges, or releasing shame—to occur. This process can lead to peace, both internally and externally, as reconciliation and acceptance replace regret and estrangement.
Kerr's research reveals that the way people die fundamentally shapes how families grieve. Those who witness loved ones reconnecting with deceased relatives or finding peace through visions recall their final moments not as dominated by illness or loss, but infused with love and meaning.
For instance, when a dying woman had an inner vision of holding her deceased infant, her spouse—watching this moment—grieved very differently. That vision reframed her death, anchoring it in love and reunion rather than emptiness or mere physical decline.
Even when patients become non-verbal or seem unreachable, if families witness their loved one’s inner peace or reunion, it changes the nature of bereavement. The loved one’s memory is imbued with a sense of wholeness, connectedness, and love.
Kerr's studies, including interviews with hundreds of families, show that these experiences help mourners view loss through a lens of continued connection—recognizing the deceased in their memories, worldviews, and ongoing relationships.
Open, honest discussion and family presence at the end of life are crucial for both the dying and the bereaved. Kerr asserts that denying death—whether through avoidance or medicalization—causes “medical harm,” robbing families of vital conversations, closure, and meaning. In contrast, home deaths, where th ...
The Healing Power Of Dying: Facilitating Emotional and Spiritual Healing, Impacting Grief and Bereavement
Christopher Kerr notes a stark gap between where Americans hope to die and where they actually do. While about 80% wish to die at home, only 30% do so. This tragic discrepancy reflects the heavy medicalization of dying in the U.S. and an underinvestment in home and palliative care. As a result, people end up in hospitals, receiving the very kind of death they fear most. Tertiary hospitals, designed to intervene and prolong life at all costs, are ill-suited for the needs of those at life’s end. Hospitals default to aggressive treatments—frequent scans, IVs, and interventions—that rarely offer comfort or meaning to the dying. Kerr emphasizes that such care often only prolongs suffering instead of enhancing life or fostering a peaceful death, robbing the experience of its grace and humanity.
Kerr draws a distinction between dying, which is gradual, and death, which is a singular moment. Dying involves a slow loss of function, similar to the way one gradually retreats to bed and sleep during illness. Most people, he says, die in sleep; thus, the most important sign during this process is comfort in rest. Achieving good sleep at the end of life requires both physical comfort and psychological or existential peace. Peaceful dying cannot happen when either is lacking. Understanding dying as a process, rather than a surprising event, helps everyone involved adjust expectations and accept gradual decline, making it possible to focus on what yields comfort and calm.
Hospice care offers a nurturing alternative to institutionalized, hospital-driven care. As a community-based model, hospice was developed as a response to the impersonal, technical focus of hospitals. Hospice prioritizes the wishes of the dying, making it more likely that patients will die at home surrounded by familiar environments, pets, routines, and loved ones. This familiarity and comfort are vital to what matters most to patients at the end of life. The experience of dying at home is fundamentally different from dying in the hospital and profoundly shapes both the process of dying and the bereavement of loved ones left behind.
Denial of death by families, clinicians, and even patients undermines agency and can cause suffering by robbing individuals of the time needed to have important conversations and prepar ...
Practical Aspects Of Dying Well: Home Care, Acceptance, Presence, and Open Communication for a Peaceful Death
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