Walking alongside people through ageing, illness and dying.
The work that matters. Wherever you are on the path.
Walking alongside people through ageing, illness and dying.
The work that matters. Wherever you are on the path.
You are not alone in feeling this
Let's make a cuppa and try and make some sense of all of this.
And all of this is happening while you are trying to keep going with the rest of your life. There is often no single person holding the whole picture with you.
I am there for the person, not the system. That is what makes the difference.
This is where I come in
I walk alongside people through ageing, illness and dying — wherever they are on that path. Some days that looks like a walk through the dining room and a hand with dinner. Other days it looks like completing an Advance Care Directive, navigating Voluntary Assisted Dying, or sitting with someone in their final hours. All of it matters.
I am not a medical provider. I work alongside doctors, nurses, and care teams — doing the work that the system, through no fault of its own, simply does not have time to do.
Two words guide everything: options and choices. Even in the most difficult circumstances, there is almost always more available than people realise. My role is to help you find it.
What support looks like
The system is not ready
The first Baby Boomers turned 80 in 2026. The average age of entry into residential aged care is 83. The wave is here. And the system is already full.
Sources: Australian Government Department of Health and Ageing Financial Report 2023-24, National Seniors Australia 2025, Hello Leaders Aged Care 2030 Conference, Home At Heart May 2026.
The heart of this work
"I am not there to do the work. I am there to see the person."
— Lisa Peterson, Held with Grace
About Lisa
A note on language
I say death, not "passing." I say dying, not "end of life journey." If that directness feels like a relief to you — you are in the right place.
I spent twenty years in Hong Kong. I came home to Melbourne in December 2019, leaving behind a city in the middle of political unrest, telling my daughters we were moving to a country where freedom is everything.
Two weeks after we arrived, Tim's mother died on Christmas Day. Then COVID hit. Tim's father died during the lockdowns. My own father had been living in aged care in Western Australia. When he died, the borders were closed. I could not get to him. I could not say goodbye in person. His funeral was silent and stripped back — the kind of farewell nobody deserves after a life fully lived.
That experience of watching a parent in aged care from a distance, relying on others to be present when you cannot be, knowing something is happening and not being able to get there — that is not abstract to me. I have lived it. It is part of why this work matters so much.
I had already lost my closest friend to cancer — the loss that first drew me toward this work. In the years that followed, I supported multiple friends and their parents through illness and death. Each time, I found myself doing the same things: slowing everything down, helping people find their options and choices, holding the practical and the emotional at the same time.
One thing that never stops shocking me is the mistruths people are told by funeral companies at the most vulnerable moments of their lives. Families in grief, making decisions under pressure, deserve honesty — not upselling. It is one of the reasons I only work with authentic, honest funeral partners who put the family first, not the invoice.
I also walk alongside people in aged care and their families, doing the work that aged care staff simply don't have time to do. Sometimes that means a walk through the dining room and a hand with dinner. Sometimes it means advocating for better care, sorting through a wardrobe, or simply being the person whose only job is to see someone.
Two words guide everything I do: options and choices. Even in the most difficult circumstances, there is almost always more control available than people realise.
I am committed to providing culturally safe, respectful support for all people and families — whatever your background, beliefs, or traditions around death and dying.
Book a conversation →"I've said goodbye to too many libraries — stories untold, books that would have been bestsellers. That is why I do this work."
Who I support
Whether someone is ageing, unwell, dying, or you simply want to get things in order before a crisis — support makes a difference at every stage.
I work with individuals, couples, and families across Melbourne's eastern suburbs — in person and online.
Testimonials
Three years ago, as my wife Sara passed away, I was messaging Lisa. She had been in constant contact — heartfelt advice and kind support over the months and years leading up, even across time zones. Lisa is a beautiful person with the biggest heart. I am so grateful to know her, and I fully support her work helping others through the traumatic and painful times that life inevitably gives us.
Lisa cared for my mother through terminal cancer for over 18 months — and was still there after she died. She communicated with kindness and without judgment, even when we had very specific and difficult requests. When we needed someone to officiate Mum's funeral, Lisa stepped into that role with grace and confidence. She made sure the service honoured Mum's memory in a way that was completely personal to her. I cannot speak highly enough of the care Lisa gave our entire family.
I came to Lisa not knowing how to advocate for my mother's dignity within the aged care system. After one or two conversations, I had a whole new language, a toolkit of options, and the confidence to have difficult conversations with empathy and respect for everyone involved. Lisa made complicated things seem less complicated. A year later, I'm still using what she taught me as Mum's needs continue to change. She made a massive difference to our family — and made an incredibly challenging time so much more manageable.
When my husband was diagnosed with a terminal illness in Hong Kong, Lisa stepped up immediately. For almost a year she organised our household, managed communications with family in Wales, made sure the children were where they needed to be, and guided us through the complexities of care in Hong Kong — all so I could be by David's side. She even helped us navigate the logistics of relocating back to the UK for his final weeks. Lisa just got on with what needed to be done. I couldn't have done it without her.
Supporting my mother-in-law through glioblastoma and my closest friend through pancreatic cancer at the same time, I became deeply aware of anticipatory grief, not only my own but that of everyone connected to these two lives.
Lisa gently held space for me, enabling me to hold space for others. The ripple effect of her guidance touched everyone around us.
She gave me the courage to speak when words were hard to find, the wisdom to prepare for what was ahead, and the compassion to face grief rather than avoid it. She also helped me navigate the practical realities of dying, things few people talk about.
The most profound lesson she shared: meet the dying where they are. That is exactly what Lisa did for me, in every moment.
Those four years before Penny's passing in 2016 were not only the most difficult years of our lives, but also some of the most enriching and positively charged years for her, due in no small part to her friendship with Lisa.
Lisa was a solid rock for Penny. Caring, serene, level-headed and immensely thoughtful. When Penny decided to cease conventional medicine and pursue natural and alternative therapies, there was absolutely no judgement. Just pure love and heartfelt support.
I can still hear their laughter and feel the warmth between them.
Penny was so blessed to have such an extraordinary friend.
Whether you are navigating ageing, illness, dying, or the grief that comes with all of it — I am here. Reach out whenever you are ready. There is no wrong time.