As I’ve mentioned in another thread, my SIL has lost the battle with cancer. They’re unplugging her respirator this evening. We are all going to be with her at the end.
However…I just found out that she will be conscious when we are there and everyone is going to say good bye to her. I was hoping that the scenario would play out the way it did with my FIL, my ex, my mom…that she would be unconscious and I would hold her hand and weep, and that I’d never have to actually “say” the words or let her see me cry.
I’m so distraught over this that I’m not sure I can go now. Have any of you ever been in the position where the person was conscious and knew that they would be dying in a few minutes? I’d appreciate any help I can get here.
Wow… just… wow. I understand why you are going… but boy oh boy that sounds like one of the very hardest things in the world to do. Especially for her husband and/or kids.
Don’t have any real advice for you. The closest I’ve come is that my ex said goodbye to his grandmother on the phone a few days before she committed suicide (planned, long story, yes very weird). I don’t recall exactly how he handled it because I was completely freaked out by the whole thing.
This same scenario happened with my step-dad’s mom. I was really young at the time, so I don’t remember the exact details, but bascially we just stood around her hospital bed, told her we loved her, she told us the same, and we just held her hand until she died.
Really really sad, and I’m sorry to hear you have to go through this.
I’m sorry to hear about your SIL. How sad for you and your family.
I had a similar situation recently, the first time (and really, I hope it’s my last time) saying goodbye to a person who was dying of cancer. It’s pretty awful (enormous understatement), but it’s one of those things where after it was over, I felt like it had been a good thing to do … not a good thing, you know, but an important thing, a valuable thing.
In my friend’s case, he was conscious, but obviously, very very ill and you could see that his alertness came and went a bit. Somehow, in my mind, I was envisioning a very lengthy and harrowing conversation. As it was, he wasn’t well enough to do more than exchange goodbyes and I love yous. So it was a brief, harrowing conversation.
As you said, it’s totally and completing distressing, and at the same time, I would encourage you to go if you possibly can. I think it’s one of those moments in life when you realize you are both stronger and weaker than you think you are.
I did it the day before yesterday. My best friend of 35 years is dying of frontotemporal dementia, and I flew up to D.C. to say goodbye to her. I don’t think she knew who I was, or maybe there was brief moment of recognition. There’s no way to tell, and really it doesn’t matter. It was very sad. I’ll never see her again.
My mom was conscious, and knew her time was close. She had checked herself into Hospice, and knew that the leukemia had won, but still wasn’t quite ready to go yet. My brother and I, as well as our wives and children, got to spend some of her last lucid moments with her. We seperately (as family units) had our own private moments with her.
I got to tell her how much I loved her, thank her for everything she taught me and for stuff she taught me that I hadn’t realized yet, tell her how proud we were for her dignity and bravery in the face of death, and just let her know that we would be okay. She told me that she wasn’t scared because she felt my dad in the room with her (he had died years earlier). I told her to go to him when she was ready, we’d understand.
She had a moment or two with my wife; mom told her to be strong for the both of us, how happy she was that Jenn was part of my life and thanked her for making me happy, and then just held my son for a while. That was the hardest part. He was almost 3, and just beginning to understand what was happening. He had a lot of questions in the days that followed.
I imagine the scene was very similar with my brother and his family, although his daughter was much too young to know what was happening.
I believe that my mom hung on for these moments to give us peace of mind. I know she knew we loved her, I know she loved us, but I also think she knew we needed this time to say goodbye. Dad went suddenly and no one got to say goodbye; we all regreted that. I don’t think she wanted us to have similar regrets when her time came.
The next afternoon we watched her take her last breath.
My advice, Kalhoun, is to try and find some comfort in this opportunity. You may not feel it right away, but you will eventually.
Thank you all for your kind and thoughtful responses. I’m going to take a deep breath and do it. We were good friends for a long time and I know I need to let her know how much she meant to me. I’ll be there for MIL and Mr. K and the other sisters. Thanks for helping me put it in perspective.
Yep. Both my father’s parents. In both cases, I went out before they died so that I could see them. I did not stay for the funerals. The goodbyes were enough for me, and far better than missing my last chance to see them.
It’s tough, but fulfilling. You’ll feel better for it.
My grandpa, just last week. He succumbed to pneumonia. I was grateful that I (and the rest of the family) could be there for his last moments. I held his hand and told him I love him.
Twice. The first time, it was my mother-in-law. She’d had a massive heart attack. I held her hand and told her it was OK to go. I felt that someone needed to tell her that, because her kids (kids - ha! - they’re all over 50, but they sure can act like kids), grandkids, etc. were clinging to her selfishly. I knew she’d spent so much of her life caring for other people, it was time for her to be at peace.
The second time was my (former job) boss. He had cancer. He requested that I come see him at home, just a few days before he died. We talked a little bit, then he took my hand & told me he loved me (he was my dad’s age), and I told him I loved him, too.
My favorite uncle died of cancer a few years ago. I was there with his wife and children and was able to tell him I loved him and that it was all right to go - that my mother and their father were waiting on him and we would be ok. He “left” before his body actually quit, but we were all with him until the end. In a way it was easier than when I lost my mother and grandfather, because I was able to tell him I loved him.
I am sending thoughts of strength and peace to you and your family.
This is so terribly hard. My thoughts and sympathy are with you.
I know it is probably too late by now for you to read this, but one thing I have planned to do if the situation ever comes up with me is to possibly talk about some of the good experiences/funny happenings that you have shared…like"Hey, I still treasure the time when we got caught in the snowstorm and had to spend that night at the motel that rented by the hour–remember how we both refused to sleep in the bed and made pallets in the floor? Little heat, no towels, but 99 pron channels on the TV?"
Or something like that. Just maybe go over some special times for you.
And of course, tell her “I love you” lots of times.
Nowhere in the same league, but I’ve said goodbye in a somewhat normal sense to a person or two whom I did not expect to see alive again, not because they were dieing at that moment. Not close relatives though. ‘Uncle’ X comes to mind here: he had a huge 90th birthday bash and was dead a few months later.
Yup. Dad. Stage IV cancer, invasive. Morphine-induced whatever-you-call-it rather makes a cogent end impractical.
Not a pretty way to go, but we got almost everybody there at The End.
A good tip is to write the person a letter. Seriously. Ther worst thing that’ll happen is that they want other people to read it. Edit the damned thing enough times, and !!! “instant eulogy.”
A good way to deal with it is to be the person’s medical power of attorney person. When you’re writing someone’s Advanced Directives with them, and defending those decisions as the process continues…the grief is expressed as the energy required to get the job done.
Four times, my father, my paternal grandfather and both of my grandmothers. Cancer took all of them. My father was the worst since he had been in the hospital for months fighting and was the youngest as well as the first to go. He was on medication and not conscious for it… the last time he was conscious was the week before and I told him that I loved him and that he should try to get better, he said he was trying. I could go a very long time without having to do it again, I think.
Update: This is actually worthy of a pit thread, but I’m too exhausted to bother. The whole decision to remove the respirator tube was based on my SIL’s request to have it removed. The hospital also spoke of doing the tracheostomy and moving her back to the nursing home (this would make her more comfortable). She told my niece (twice…and very clearly) that she understood that removing the tube would mean she would die. She then told the nurse, very clearly, that she wished to have the tube removed.
At this point, the doctor said he would need to hear it and SIL’s son (who has durable medical power of attorney) should be there as well. Once confirmed, they would increase the morphine, turn off the machine, and she’d go.
So the whole family gets to the hospital. We’re crying, reading poems, doing all the things a grieving family does. The doctor comes in and starts the conversation with my SIL (who is awake, but by no means “with it”). He tells her she has the option of the respirator or the tracheotomy, but never mentions the option of stopping all treatment so she could die. He asked her if she wanted to think about it for a while and she nodded “yes” (which she did to nearly every single question that was asked of her, regardless of whether or not it was appropriate). He then went into some schpiel about that they’re there to preserve life, blah, blah, blah. So…we’re right back where we were. She’s writhing in pain, totally incoherent, has tubes and machines everywhere, is unable to speak, and is living in hell.
Her son wants to follow her wishes to a T, so he’s afraid to question the doctor’s fact-finding technique. I can’t blame him, but this seemed to me (and the rest of the family) to be totally mishandled. He requested that the whole family be in the room through all of this. I think she was overwhelmed by 10 people being in the room staring at her and trying to decipher her responses. It should have been the doctor, the son, and my SIL.
I’m so angry. My poor SIL is a prisoner of her own body…unable to move or communicate. Living in horrible pain until her heart stops, at which time they’ll try to revive her, press on her chest until her cancer-filled bones break. I wish there was something I could do to help her.
