I was 48. Dad had a heart attack and died instantly at 72. That was 14 years ago - it still doesn’t seem completely real sometimes.
At about age 50, I realized how extremely lucky I was to still have both parents. Dad died at age 91 when I was 55. Mom died this year at age 86 and I am 62. Fortunately, neither suffered, and I still feel so fortunate that they lived so long. Mom swore she was attending every grandchild’s high school graduation, but didn’t quite make it long enough for my youngest (three years to go), and was just one year short of her first great-grandchild’s graduation next spring.
My father was killed by an inattentive driver two years ago Monday, and I was 59. I miss him every day, and hope the man who killed him remembers him too.
I was 39. Dad was 84. Pancreatic cancer.
Dad was always scared of becoming an invalid, and a burden to his family. As cancers go, it was fairly quick, about a month from the first symptoms to the end. It could have been a lot worse.
I was 41. It will have been 2 years ago on October 7 that my dad passed. My mother is still alive.
He had laryngeal cancer. It had initially been diagnosed sometime around 2003. The last…6 weeks were rough. He’d been in ICU for about 4 weeks after his carotid basically blew out at home. There was a stent, followed by a surgery where they found that the cancer was back all through his neck. He was transferred home under hospice in late August. The Saturday before he passed he pulled out his feeding tube and chose not to have it replaced. So I have to believe he chose when he was ready to go.
That doesn’t make it easier, of course, but it eases the heart a bit.
Both my parents died in my twenties, forget how my mom died, but my dad and brother were in a car accident. Didn’t really affect me.
I was 10 when my mom died. I was in early 20s when my dad died. I miss my dad a lot more - which I am a little ashamed to say, but I knew him much better than i ever knew my mom. My mom was mostly a mom-shaped hole in my life, since I was so young when she died. But I had become friends with my dad, damnit.
I was in my late 40’s when my mom died of heart disease, and in my early 50’s when my dad died of cancer.
Neither death was unexpected, or painful. I’ve got threads on both of them around here somewhere.
My dad had a massive disabling stroke when I was 14. They did not do any rehabilitation for strokes back in those days (early sixties), at least not for working class people. He was bedridden ever after and passed away 11 years later when I was 25.
I was 52 when my mom passed from a massive stroke at 81.
She had had a number of strokes going back 20 years and the related dementia. For a number of years, she didn’t always know who she was talking to when you called her on the phone or went to visit (she was legally blind, so recognizing faces didn’t help there). The last 20 years of her life, we got fewer and fewer glimpses of the woman who raised us.
My father died of a heart attack (a shock but not a surprise) 8 days before his 56th birthday and 6 days before my oldest son was born. His dad died the same way at age 63.
My mother died 40 years and 7 days later, one day past that son’s 40th birthday. She was 98. Her date of death also misses our oldest grandson’s 14th birthday (also her oldest great grandson) by 2 days and her late husband’s birthday by 1 day. I am glad at least that her death date does not land on any of those anniversaries. Sounds bizarre that someone could be “considerate” in death.
I was 23 when my dad died and I’m presently the same age my dad’s dad was when he died. Who will I take after? A question I’m curious about but glad-fully don’t dwell upon.
My Dad died when I was 14. He was 54. He had heart problems and diabetes, and he weakened quite rapidly.
It’s been over 30 years since, and it’s weird to think that A) he’s been gone from my life way longer than he was in it, and b) I’m rapidly approaching the age he was when he died. I miss him, of course, but not in the way I did at the time. I wish he’d been there to guide me as I transitioned into adulthood, in retrospect I really think that was a major gap in my upbringing.
My mother is still fighting fit, she’s now 73 and only has minor age-related problems. She’ll be around for a while yet, I think.
I was 22 when my dad died.
My dad also died of Alzheimer’s, at 81. The years my mom took care of him took a tremendous toll on her own health. It was the reason why my husband and I relocated here, to help take care of both of them. When he finally passed, it was a relief to everyone.
:eek: How can you forget how your mom died, and how can your dad’s and brother’s deaths not really affect you? I really don’t understand this.
I was 50 when we lost my Dad in December of 2012. We got up from sitting shiva for him on what would have been his 86th birthday. He had been sick with various ailments, off and on since that spring. I flew in a few times to see him, and the last time I left, at the beginning of that December, I had a feeling I wouldn’t see him again.
My sister called 3 weeks later, just after he entered a hospice service, and said he was taking a turn for the worse. I was in the airport waiting to go through security when my wife called to tell me that he died. I spent the 11 hour flight either pacing the aisles and crying to myself or sitting and writing a eulogy, crying to myself.
My Mom hadn’t been taking care of herself during this episode, and she was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer not long after Dad died. She died 10 months later. Luckily, I made it back in time to spend a few days with her before she slipped into her final coma.
My father died when I was 39. He had been diagnosed with multiple myeloma about nine months earlier and his health had been in steady decline, so it wasn’t exactly a shock. I cried when he spoke to me for the last time, he obviously knew it was good-bye, and his words were very kind. When he actually died two days later, I don’t think I really did, it seemed like a formality rather than a distinct event. Of course, what followed were the formal rituals of mourning - the funeral (I spoke, definitely cried toward the end of that), the shiva week (exhausting, but cathartic), and the year of saying Kaddish every day (which felt good, as I was doing merit for his soul) and not listening to music or attending celebrations (my wife supposedly had big plans for my big 4-0, but I guess that’ll have to wait until I hit 50 instead), which just felt “right.”
I’ve certainly cried at times, especially when I visit his grave and “talk to him.” My eighth child bears his name (and was probably conceived less than a week before his death) and occasionally when I look at him I remember Daddy and get a little choked up.
My sympathies for your mother’s condition. Always know you’re not alone in your grief.
Then there’s Harland Fairweather in Jamaica. He turned 96 on April 20/16. His mother, Violet Brown, is still living, she turned 116 on March 10/16. She’s the worlds second oldest currently living person. That’s believed to be the world’s record for oldest person ever with a parent still living and that record gets extended each day both are still living!
I was 15 when my dad died in 1964. He was 53. I am now 67. Though I understand why my family did it, lying to me about his illness affects my relationships with my siblings to this day. They all got to say good-bye. I didn’t.
My father left the family when I was six. He shot himself when I was 27.
There was a lot of stuff in between, good and bad.
I completely lost my shit both times. Which is worse when you’re trying to do a PhD in already horrible circumstances than when you’re in kindergarten.
I was 53 when my Mum died. Dad passed about a month later.
The hardest thing I’ve ever done was to give their eulogies, but my sister was wonderfully supportive (she said “If you break down, I’ll come up and finish for you.”)
I went through a range of emotions when grieving (sadness, loss, anger, frustration, confusion etc.)
It helped me enormously that I went to a charity (Cruse) for grief counselling. They had an initial chat with me (“let’s see if we can help each other”) and I still remember one phrase they used:
“You’re an orphan now.”
Previously I associated orphans with children in the novels of Charles Dickens - but that realisation helped the healing process.
Best wishes to everyone who’s gone through this.