Talking about end of life and death can be extremely uncomfortable. It can also bring a sense of peace. Never easy, this type of conversation for me has had many different outcomes and was always surprising. I wish I had had it with more people in my life and hadn’t been so afraid of it for so long.
My dear friend was so tired.
The first conversation I had was with a dear friend in his early thirties who had been fighting serious health issues for years. I can still see him sitting in his hospital bed, so depleted and exhausted. He had always been so full of life. To see him in such a defeated physical and emotional state was heart-wrenching.
He told that he was so tired and didn’t want to do it anymore. He didn’t want to live. To my shock, I just sat there for a minute. Normally I would try and bolster him up or try to say something that inspired him to keep carrying on but something in his voice told me to be quiet and just listen. That this was the time to acknowledge what he was saying and to support him somehow.
After a while, I heard my self say with tears in my eyes, “Ok, babe, I understand. I don’t want you to worry about me. I will miss you but I don’t want you to stay here because of me or any of us and be in pain anymore. It’s ok. You can let go.”
He looked at me and said, “Ok, thank you.” I held him and we cried. He died a few weeks later.
This first conversation shaped many to come.
I’ll never forget that moment. I believe I had somehow told him what he needed to hear. It shaped my ability to have conversations about the end of life and death for the rest of my life. They didn’t all go exactly like that one but I learned to tell loved ones that it was ok to let go. Sometimes they would bring up the subject, sometimes I would be the one who began the conversation and sometimes I would talk to them even though I was told they couldn’t hear me.
Something in my Dad had changed.
When my Dad was hospitalized with an infection and became so sick before he died, he too became deeply tired and something changed in him. He looked and sounded like he just couldn’t fight anymore. He had fought when he was wounded in the war, and he had fought when he had open-heart surgery at 87 but this final sickness seemed to be the last straw. I could see it. I told him that I didn’t want him to worry about anything, that if something happened to him I promised I would take care of Mommy. He put out his hand and we shook on it. He looked me straight in the eyes and smiled. He too died a few weeks later.
These conversations have never been simple or uncomplicated for me but I don’t regret a single one I’ve had. Everybody is different, and we all must seek our own way of thinking about and coping with the possibility of someone we love dying. For me, communication has always been a way for me to find my comfort zone and feel safe. So having these conversations always gave me a sense of peace and comfort which I believe was shared by those I had them with.
May you have peace and serenity.
I would never tell anyone what to feel or how to manage this difficult and painful time. As with everything, I can only speak from my experience and share what helped me in my caregiving journey. I wish that your unique and powerful journey includes as much serenity and grace the universe can offer. Should you choose to talk to those you love about how you feel and how you support them and their wishes, I pray your conversations are as blessed as mine have been. Hopefully, my stories give you and your loved ones some comfort during the unsettling end of life process. I send you love and keep you in my thoughts.
I said to my mother in law it was okay to go after she had been in hospital for 4 years, technically brain dead. I did not verbalize the words. Just thought them while holding her hand. She passed later the same day.
I believe she heard you somehow. Such love has a way of communicating everything.
It’s so poignant that I just read this post today January 14th. Today is the anniversary of my Dad’s death. On January 13 th 1995 he suffered a massive cerebral hemorage and stroke.After about 28 hours in the hospital, he died. We had stayed sitting all night with him and tried speaking to him every so often. The doctors kept saying “he is in a coma and cannot hear you.” In the morning as I was sitting next to him holding his hand I said ” it’s okay Dad if you can’t hang on anymore. You can go if you have to. You don’t have to worry about us. We’ll be okay.” And he squeezed my hand and within a minute or so took his last breath. It was so peaceful and quiet. No struggle. Just guiet and relaxed. I don’t know why I said it. But it just seemed to allowed him to rest. So I understand exactly what you were talking about. You need to give your loved ones permission to let go.
Oh! What an amazing story. I do believe they can hear us and are so grateful for the grace of getting permission to rest. I love that you said it allowed him to rest. I believe that is true. I’m so sorry for you loss.
I have held the hands of many many people in their final weeks and days and believe me each time I encouraged the family members to say it’s okay to go. Parents especially need permission to pass over without fear of leaving their loved ones behind. The peaceful look on their faces is to be treasured.
Thank you so much for sharing that and for the work you do. You make such a difference in all of our lives.