Live your life to the fullest. Right up to your very last breath.
Those words get tossed around a lot. They show up in speeches, on bumper stickers, and in conversations where we’re all trying to remind ourselves what matters. But saying them is one thing; living them is something else entirely. Most of us get swept into the undertow of real life—raising kids, paying bills, going to work, juggling responsibilities until the days blur and the years speed past. Then, suddenly, we blink… and so much of it seems to have slipped by.
Jean Dukes, my late mother-in-law, didn’t just say those words. She lived them.
The Woman Who Pedaled Through Life
While raising five children, Jean somehow carved out the time, energy, and sheer grit to ride her bike across the country—coast to coast—not once, but twice. She had plans to make the journey again in her late seventies, until her oldest daughter (also my wife), a nurse, finally put her foot down and, for health reasons, talked her out of it.
Jean didn’t stop with the U.S. She biked across parts of England, Europe, and New Zealand—often with Charles by her side and a circle of close biking friends. When the kids were younger, they sometimes came too; one even went coast to coast when she was just two years old. It wasn’t wealth that made these adventures possible. She and Charles, a schoolteacher, simply planned with patience and purpose.
A Life of Service
Jean poured that same spirit into her community. She served as director of the Lamar Unit of the American Cancer Society, sat on the board of Lamar Arts, was a member of the Lamar Lafayette NSDAR, and served as president of the Griffin Choral Arts board. In 2008, she and Charles were named Barnesville-Lamar Outstanding Citizens of the Year.
Every Sunday for years, she served as the organist at her church. Her faith was woven into her daily life. At St. Ann’s Catholic Church in Barnesville, she held multiple leadership roles and was named Woman of the Year—a recognition that barely hints at the depth of her service.
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Starting the hike with three generations side by side.
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The whole family stretched across the bridge, Jean smiling in the middle of it all.
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We were allowed a couple of cars; at one point we had over a dozen. Nobody complained!
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John, Joe, Sara Beth, Jean and Alyson, at the bottom of DeSoto Falls, on Saturday afternoon.
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Jean at her happiest—resting for a moment, laughing at something none of us remember now.
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Everyone drifting in and out of the firepit gathering, the way camping weekends always go.
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Christopher, Kati and family surprised Jean by driving up from Pensacola for lunch–her smile says it all.
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The whole family on the deck, talking, laughing, and holding onto the moment.
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Her last gathering with the family — she sat quietly among us, taking it all in.
A Sudden Turn
That brings me to her final lesson.
Alyson and I had purchased Blue Ridge Horizon in November 2024. After a few months of renovations—bathrooms, the basement, the usual chaos—we all moved to the mountain in April 2025. Jean was excited to settle in: cool mornings in the garden, afternoons arranging the kitchen, hanging pictures, and giving the house its rhythm. But she seemed more tired than usual. A little overwhelmed. Not quite herself.
So it shouldn’t have been a shock when, in June, she received an unsettling diagnosis: a spot on her lung. Having survived breast cancer years earlier, she took the news with her characteristic steadiness, went in for a biopsy, and then we all headed off for a beach trip with the grandchildren. When we returned, the news came—devastating and unambiguous. The cancer had spread throughout her body.
And that, my friends, brings me to the heart of this reflection.
A Weekend for the Ages
Alyson had already reserved her favorite campsite at DeSoto Falls for the coming weekend—a secluded spot (#14) beside Frogtown Creek. She rents this site three times a year, and our kids and grandkids join in for camping, s’mores, and hiking. Jean never missed a chance to go. She was just at home in a tent as she was in a comfortable bed.
But this time, she asked Alyson to call her siblings and invite them along. Sara Beth was already planning to visit, and Joe quickly said he’d make the drive from Charleston. Unbeknownst to Jean, calls also went out to all of the grandchildren, and almost everyone immediately agreed to head up to the north Georgia mountains that weekend. One grandson—a doctor in Florida—was on call and simply couldn’t rearrange his schedule.
A Gathering Like No Other
Alyson knew the camp host, Brenda, and explained that we might have more than the usual two cars. Brenda took it upon herself to talk with nearby campers, who were completely supportive. Soon, tents sprouted everywhere, and Alyson stretched two massive tarps over the picnic tables. A fire burned bright, and the weekend took on a life of its own. Our end of the campgound looked like a hobo's paradise.
Later that afternoon, Jean gathered everyone and shared her diagnosis. She asked that there be no tears. She reminded us she had lived a spectacular life. And while she didn’t want to die, she wasn’t afraid. It was then that she read her reflection, Teach Them to Die.
Her message was simple but profound:
Have a strong faith in God.
Trust that He will hold you close.
Be grateful. Be kind. Be generous. Live beneath your means.
Get outside. Laugh. Don’t take yourself too seriously.
Live right up to the very end.
And when the time comes, trust that God will guide you on the sacred journey.
A Farewell at the Falls
On Sunday morning, many of us hiked to nearby Helton Creek Falls. Sara Beth had thoughtfully brought a chair and set it near the water’s edge. Jean spent the next hour listening to the rush of the falls, surrounded by her children, grandchildren, and a dear friend. On the walk back, the sky opened up and drenched us. Others might have complained—Jean just laughed and said, “This is the most wonderful ending to the most wonderful weekend ever.”
The following weekend, we planned what none of us realized would be her final outing from Blue Ridge Horizon. Once again, her children and most of her grandchildren gathered—this time at a small Mexican restaurant in town. The grandson and his family who’d missed the camping trip quietly arrived from Florida, slipping into the booth and completely surprising her. The look on Jean’s face said everything. After lunch, everyone came back to the cabin. We sat on the deck for hours, telling stories, soaking in the warmth of a day that, in hindsight, none of us will ever forget.
It was a beautiful ending to her last weekend with all of her children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren.
Later that evening, after everyone except Sara Beth and Joe had headed home, Jean told us how grateful she was that we’d gone camping when we did. Just seven days had drained enough of her strength that she knew—without question—she couldn’t have managed it if we had waited.
Jean never left the cabin again.
But she told us many times…
she was already halfway to Heaven.
View a short video of the weekend
Download & Share “Teach Them to Die” (PDF)
Jean’s powerful reflection, Teach Them to Die, has resonated deeply with readers around the world. We encourage you to download, print, and share this message of faith, peace, and legacy with others. Two versions are available:
Please feel free to distribute this document in memory of Jean and her hope to help others approach the end of life with grace and assurance.
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