"If I am feeling brave I will send this list to the next person that utters the dreaded words 'Let me know what I can do' and say take your pick," she wrote.

"Actually I would never give this list to anyone – who am I kidding – but it makes me feel better just to write it!"

Ruth hated asking for help. "It feels like an admission of not coping, of having to rely on other people. It feels awkward and wrong. It feels like I am being lazy and asking people to do something I should be able to do myself."

As she wrote this reflection in March 2015 she wasn't sure where her story would go; her treatment was ongoing.

"Perhaps I will have to practise asking for help," she joked one more time.

Ruth died on August 16, 2015, just shy of her 42nd birthday.

A year on, Andrew is keen to share her message, their message, that random acts of kindness can make all the difference to the dying.

He remembers the little things, someone tidying their garden, his sister-in-law popping around to clean their house without being asked, handwritten cards that would just appear in their mailbox, cards that just said "We're thinking of you".

"It was hard for us to ask for help," he says. "We were both independent, capable adults, and then, after Ruth was diagnosed, we just found ourselves in a different place."

In late 2012 Ruth was suffering from severe constipation, excruciating abdominal pain and nausea. They had returned from Africa months before where Ruth had contracted salmonella poisoning and they thought there was a connection. But after many trips to emergency, an ultrasound revealed she had cancer spots on her liver and they were inoperable. Eventually they would find the primary cancer on the bowel. The tumour was so big it had caused a blockage. The official diagnosis was stage 4 bowel cancer.

The Terracinis decided not to find out how long Ruth had to live. They would take each day as it came. Make the most of every moment they would have together.

"I remember talking to the oncologist just before Ruth passed and we asked him what would he have told us on the first meeting," says Andrew.

"He said he would have told us three to six months. We nearly had three years. What a bonus. Ruth high-fived him that day and she passed away two days later."

Sharing his wife's final thoughts about how others can help the dying, Andrew wants people to know that the process is a marathon, not a sprint.

There's an initial flood of support, he says; on diagnosis everyone is keen to help, but it's the day-to-day living that can be the biggest struggle. Coping with the little things like cooking and cleaning, dealing with the emotional and financial strain, the constant demands of caring for someone who is dying.

"There were a lot of times where we felt isolated and alone, even though we had family and friends around," he said.

"Support is ongoing, it's not just the beginning and the end, it's all the days in between."

Andrew acknowledges the help he and Ruth received from their families and friends and programs such as the ACT Eden Monaro Cancer Support Group and Palliative Care ACT.

Gayle Sweaney, the chief executive officer of Palliative Care ACT, says the group is going to incorporate Ruth's story into their education programs for volunteers and community members.

"We loved it so much we're going to use it to hopefully inspire those who are in the same situation," Ms Sweaney said.

Andrew says Ruth would be happy to know that her story might help other people.

"It's kind of weird but Ruth really found her purpose in life in those last three years," he says.

"She wanted to help people by showing them how to live and how to be happy, to take each day and live each day and be happy.

"She took the attitude I can die happy and enjoy what I have left or I can be miserable and say poor me and die unhappy.

"Don't get me wrong, we had plenty of miserable days; the choice seems easy but at the end of the day in everyday life it's hard to do, sometimes.

"But some of the best days of my life were in those last three years we had together."

He remembers one moment, the day before Ruth died. She was inClare Holland House, unable to speak, her body failing.

"I'd just ducked out to get a coffee or something, taking a break after a long night, while her sister sat with her.

"I came back into the room and her face just lit up and she beckoned me over so she could give me the biggest hug she could manage. It was a moment of pure love and joy and she didn't have to say anything to me."

And for Ruth, too, it was these little moments that mattered most.

Her last practical tip for people to do is one that doesn't involve much time or money; it's not an inconvenience or too much of a burden.

"Just give me a hug and tell me that you love me," she wrote.

"Feeling understood, acknowledged and loved goes a long way to creating a healing environment."