How do I prepare for my relative to die?

In My Humble Opinion
1

This is going to be my first real family death. My great grandparents died when I was young and it didn’t really bother me.

My grandpa has cancer. He’s been fighting it for the last few months, but It’s gotten the better of him and he’ll probably lose the battle in the next month or so. He’s only 65. I don’t know how to prepare for this. Or what to say to my grandma. Or to him. Or my mom.

He married my grandma around the same time I was born, 37 years ago. He’s 14 years younger than she is and we never ever thought that he’d go first.

I’m terrified of the funeral. I always have a death-grip on my emotions because I’m painfully uncomfortable with them.

I don’t even know what I’m asking here. This is going to be really horrible.

2

I’m really sorry to read this. My thoughts are with your family, especially your grandpa.

The best thing I think you can do is communicate with him now. If you can’t visit in person, call him every day. Share with him memories you have and let him know how much you’ve appreciated the time you’ve spent. Ask him questions about his life before you knew him, get him to talk (if he feels like it) and share his life. These are things that’ll mean a lot to you later on.

3

It will likely be more and less horrible than you think it will be. When it arrives (especially after a lingering illness) there will be some relief - and that is normal and nothing to feel guilty about.

You say “I love him so much.” And you say “I’m sorry.” And you say “remember when…”

4

Perhaps the best way that you can deal with death is to realize that everyone deals with death in their own way, and that even the same person will deal with death differently for two different (perhaps even very close) people.

I have a very peculiar outlook on death. My paternal grandfather was an undertaker; I was a paramedic. My sense of humor can often run to the morbid, and it takes a lot to offend me. So I react one way. The rest of my family all react in their own ways.

When I heard on the phone that my grandfather Ben died*, at first I was shocked. He had been in the hospital, and I “knew” it was coming. (It wasn’t a long term illness, but I think I knew it was coming as soon as I heard he went into the hospital.) But I was still stunned. I was in college at the time, so I went out and spend money on an extravagance - the cheapest portable cd player I could find. It was right before finals, so I contacted all of my professors to put things on hold for the trip to the funeral. In other words, I was in shock, then dealt by keeping busy and being practical. I found out later that my brother got home to find our cousin (with whom he was sharing an apartment) hysterical on the floor, sobbing. Well, actually, she was on the phone with another of our cousins telling each other stories about Ben and laughing so hard she was crying.

(*I never knew my maternal grandfather. Sorry if it sounds weird taking about my grandfather as if he was my only one. He kinda was.)

At Ben’s funeral, I really didn’t cry much. We mostly sat around talking about him, sharing our experiences, enjoying each other’s presence, and having much more of a memorial to him than some of the other services I have seen. One of the reasons I didn’t cry much was that I thought I had to be “strong.” (Can’t be the guy who cries, right?)

I should talk briefly about my grandfather. He was simply an incredible guy. He’d lived through so much, but had been such an integral part of the community where he grew up and raised his family. He had been a Deputy Sheriff and a volunteer Captain with the fire police. The funeral was in his funeral home - the one where he ran his business and raised his family in.

When the fire service came to honor him with a ceremony, at first, I thought it was mighty odd. None of the people present would have known him. They were all too young, and he had been too old and retired for too long. But when they rang their bell to sound the call for someone who will not be returning to the station, I lost the control I had been fighting to keep. Tears started streaming down my face as I really realized that my grandfather was gone and I’d never see him again. (Truth be told, I’m having to wipe away tears even now, almost ten years later.)

At first I was mortified that I had “lost it”. And I’d be crying in front of Ben. Then I realized something very basic - I was crying because I loved my grandpa and I would miss him. When one of my cousins turned, with tears down her eyes and asked me (half jokingly, but trying to give me an out) about my “allergies”, I replied honestly that no, I missed Ben. We both smiled that sad smile of people who are happy and sad and sat back for the end of the sermon.

When, a couple of years later, one of my aunts finally lost her battle to cancer, we all reconvened in the funeral home my great uncle ran. (Yup, it was a family business.) My cousins were all again with us, including the one my brother had lived with, and the one who asked me about my “allergies”, both of whom were my deceased aunt’s daughters. We still laughed and cried, but this funeral had a bitter note. My aunt had gotten lung cancer, and had put up a fight well longer than anyone thought possible (doctors included). Probably because they had all begged her to quit smoking for years, my cousins definitely felt their mother had been stolen from them. My grandfather had been 96 when he died. It’s hard to say he had been “stolen.” Sure, we all miss him, but his funeral was a celebration of his life. My aunt’s funeral was still a celebration. (Among other things, we laughed about her jokingly stated wishes of “propping her up in a corner with a bottle of scotch and having a party at her funeral.”) We all remembered the good times about her, but we lamented the years lost to us by cancer and tobacco.

I have no idea if my stories will help you at all. I hope I haven’t gone on too long when you’re dealing with your own personal losses. I probably could have just said something like “be sympathetic; don’t get too caught up in an dramas; remember that everyone will react differently.” But I hope that this long-winded story shows you that your reactions are going to be different; just react honestly and kindly and you should get through fine.

Good luck; sending good thoughts your way,
-Geek

5

Accept your emotions. Don’t run from them. It’s gonna suck, but we’re here for you!

6

I sincerely appreciate your replies, experiences, thoughts and wishes. Seriously, it means a lot.

7

We’re here for you, all steps of the way. hugs tight

8

This is my personal opinion so you disregard it if you need to. I strongly oppose open casket funerals because I find them beyond macabre. People can choose that if they want but I want no part of it. Don’t look if you don’t want to if they have an open casket funeral. There is no obligation and the body that you see is not your family member and won’t look like the person either. That is not the way I want to remember any family member so don’t feel pressured no matter what anyone says.

9

Talk with your grandfather. When my father was dying from cancer last year he had come to grips with the whole situation and accepted the reality well before any of the rest of us had. Otherwise, exactly what **Autolycus ** said. Do not be afraid to express your emotions. And call on the support of your friends. They will rally around to help you.

10

My darling Uncle Rueben died just a few months ago–he lost the battle, too. I hate crying in public but I loved him and he loved me and I thought about what he’d want and not want for me. He would have wanted me to go to his service. He wouldn’t have wanted me to cry. He would’ve loved it if I looked great–he loved my style. I went. I looked great. I cried anyway. All those people at his funeral didn’t know him or love him as much as I did, but they were there to pay their respects. I had to cry in front of them and I hated that but I also hated losing him in the first place. Nobody let me choose that or let me stop it. It just was.
Go if you want to. Don’t if you don’t want to. Ask yourself what he would want from you and honor his memory.

11

You don’t have to be strong for them, or for yourself, unless you want to be. Mostly what happens is that everybody becomes the strong one at a different time, when they can, and when somebody else can’t. You all take care of each other, and share love and memories. And laughter sometimes. It’s okay. And it’s also okay to come here and tell us how you feel. We’re here to listen.

Two things that may or may not help.

When my mom died, it was easier for my son to deal with the open casket because she didn’t look natural. He referred to her as “the amazing plastic grandma”. It put some distance between her in the casket and the grandma he knew.

When my dad died, we all stood around at the funeral home, and later at their house, and shared stories about him. We laughed a good bit and, strange as it sounds, it was a good time. My cousin was heard to remark, “This is the kind of party Uncle Chris (my dad) would have loved, if he could have been here.”

12

I want to write him a letter and say some things to him. I don’t want it to seem fake though. In my family, we don’t do things like say “I love you” or really hug. Some of my relatives are a little more comfortable with that than others. I tend to be very uncomfortable with any showing of emotion.

I guess I’m also afraid that if I send a letter, then I’m acknowledging “You are dying, I know you are dying, and I want to say some things to you before you go”.

I’m sitting here with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes and I’m uncomfortable with that, even though there’s nobody else here.

I guess that’s really selfish of me. He’s dying and I’m worried about crying. Kind of stupid really. This isn’t about me, I have to remember that.

Sorry, I know this is really rambley. I’m just trying to work things out in my head.

13

Floaty,Whatever you’re feeling is okay. There is no right way to grieve. Everybody is human, everyone cries.

14

Floaty, if you want to write him a letter, do. You can still do it once he’s dead but (even if he still can read it, which some belief systems consider he can) he won’t be able to respond in a way you can see.

You’ll get lots of unexpected emotions. One frequent component of the grieving process which doesn’t get mentioned in books and movies is anger: anger at your grandpa for dying, anger at God for allowing it, anger at yourself for not telling him whatever or doing whatever or…, anger at the relative who was “too calm” at the funeral and at the one who couldn’t stop crying, or at the sun for going on shining. You’re supposed to be sad, why is the sun shining? How dare it! No really, it sounds like a joke but it’s not.

How can you prepare? Think of whether there’s anything you need to tell him and anything you need to ask him about. And tell him, or ask it. This is assuming he knows and accepts he’s dying, my father didn’t accept it until some 24h before doing the deed and Mom still refused to acknowledge it at that time (3 years with cancer, I think that’s quite enough warning).

15

I know it’s scary to acknowledge that someone is dying. Please write the letter. You won’t regret it, and your grandpa will love to recieve it.

Don’t worry about how things are done in your family, and just write from your heart.

I recently attended the funeral and wake of a friend who died from cancer and we all agreed that we wished we had had the wake when he was still alive.

Don’t leave it too late like we did. Write the letter.

16

So sorry, FloatyGimpy. There’s definitely nothing easy about losing a beloved relative or friend, and you have my heartfelt sympathies.

I lost my father almost 20 years ago, and it still feels, sometimes, like it was only yesterday. The advice I’d give you is to be sure that you have told your grandfather every single thing you want him to know. Don’t let fear or embarrassment stop you from doing that. I come from a family where emotions are never acknowledged, so there were a lot of things I’d like to have know about my dad or had him know about me that I thought were just too “risky” to talk about. I still regret that. This is your only chance to tell him these things, so take advantage of it and be grateful that you have the opportunity to do so.

The one thing that really threw me when my dad died was not the feelings of grief or sadness or even the anger; it was finding myself thinking, “Oh, I’ll go over and see Dad today,” and then realizing he wasn’t there to visit, or seeing somebody on the street who looked like him and getting a little leap of joy in my heart, then a devastating crash when reality set in. I had to get into the habit of him being gone, and that took quite a while.

17

I’ve had lots of people die on me. Every single one has had a little bit different reaction.

My mom dying when I was 22 was hard. Not only because of our tumultuous relationship, but because that was the first time I had to look my own mortality in the eye. I think this is a little of what you are going through, floatygimpy.

A good friend of mine died when she was 29, and it took her a year to die, inch by inch. I visited her often, and she would remark how many people avoided her, or only would talk about death, cancer, or sit there, afraid to say anything wrong, etc. She always appreciated me stopping by, and talking to her like a friend, about our kids, about gossip, about the latest trends etc. Her husband, even to this day, 10 years later, has mentioned how much that helped. Now, I am crying, thanks.

My brother in law, who was one of my best friends, died 4 years ago, and that was a long and pointless death. I think I am still pissed at him.

My grandma died a month or two ago, and even though she was 94 with a long and significant life, it sucked knowing that one of the people who truly loved me is gone. I was her favorite. She was a great woman, a firecracker, one of those who lights up a room. I got the call that she was dying, left in 15 minutes, and drove the 4.5 hours to see her. I got up there at 430, she died by 1030. Really glad I was able to say goodbye, even though she wasn’t conscious. I just held her hand. One of the most touching things I saw was my cousin, a gruff old carpenter, a man of 50 or so, telling her it would be ok, and gently caressing her face.

Go. Don’t be scared. Be yourself, let them know you love them.

Acknowledge their death, treat them with love.

18

This is part of my problem too; I tend toward panic attacks when I have to process really strong emotions and that compounds itself as I imagine I will NEVER feel better and panic all over again. I can’t imagine the death of my parents because it would be overwhelming.

But I’ve learned it’s OK to acknowledge that I am sad right now, it’s perfectly appropriate and while it’s terrible, it’s part of loving someone. It won’t always be this bad and if it eases that doesn’t mean I don’t care anymore.

I’m sorry for the hard time you are going through. Don’t be afraid to express your emotions to others and let them be there for you; that’s a gift too.

19

If you do go and want to talk, don’t take it personally if your grandfather doesn’t. He may not be feeling up to it, he may think it too awkward, it could be any number of things. Tell him you love him and then go from there.

20

None of this is stupid. It’s how you feel, and there’s nothing wrong with that. Human beings grieve over the loss of loved ones. It’s okay. As for acknowledging that he’s dying, it might be good for both of you. If he knows that you know, he might be able to relax around you. You don’t have to openly say “I love you” to let him know it. Maybe you can tell him some memories that are important to you. He’ll see it, even if it’s between the lines.

It’s okay to feel how you feel, however that is. There is no right way to do this.