There is no do-over

I like to say that I don’t have any regrets in life. I’ve not always made the right choices. I’ve even done a few things that I'm not proud of. I try to acknowledge when I could have done something better, be accountable, and then put in the work to learn, and grow. No regrets.

Today, it is seven years since the final moments of the one event I cannot stop replaying over and over - the last week of Tim's life. I do this, in large part, because I don’t want those last moments with him to ever fade from my memory. What he did, said, and all the other things going on around him. The people, the nurses, the doctors, the laughter, and the tears. The prayers he welcomed. The music he wanted to listen to. The last things he ate.

I also process those days with a magnifying glass, considering what I think I did right, and also what I may not have. As a newly widowed friend of mine recently exclaimed during the over analysis of her own situation, “I have never prepared for a husband’s death or been a widow before, so, I guess go ahead and critique away!” There is a truth there – and a massive load of sarcasm. How are we supposed to know what to do?  But also, how is anyone else allowed to judge what we did?  

There are professionals who dedicate their time to educating and supporting the dying and their families. Thank goodness for them. Doctors, nurses, social workers, end-of-life doulas, volunteers. Each of them, teachers. Each of them, angels. But I will honestly say, as a person losing a loved one, though their presence was needed and felt, the information shared by these angels was not always absorbed or understood.  There was a LOT going on and time was limited.

Now that I have dedicated myself to working with people in this same situation, I am a teacher. And I still know and appreciate that I am the least important person in the room. But here are just a few points that may be helpful.

When a person is actively dying, it means that they are in the last phase of the dying process. This is when the body is undergoing its final, irreversible shutdown.  Everyone dies in a unique way, but there is a pattern to death when a person is experiencing end of life in this way. If you are with a person in their final weeks, days and hours, it’s helpful to know what is happening. Here are a few generally agreed upon experiences of what we know of an actively dying person.

- Their attention turns inward with less engagement with the outer world

- The person may begin grieving as the reality of death settles in

- There will be more sleeping and drifting off, and possibly disorientation and confusion

- There will be swelling in the extremities, irregular breathing, and indications of pain

- The person will show a lack of desire for food, as the body no longer requires it

There are more signs that may vary based on the age of the person and the illness or disease they are experiencing. But, it is important to know that in this phase of transitioning, the body knows how to die.

I was with my dad in his final week and at his bedside administering morphine during the last twenty-four hours of his life.  I felt that I had educated myself with the assistance of hospice, as best as I could, on what to expect. But all of this was happening rapidly, and it was all new to me. Looking back, I had no idea what I was doing. I mostly followed my instinct. Maybe that time with my dad helped me feel more prepared and comfortable as I stayed with Tim bedside, twenty-four seven, in his last week of life.  My thinking brain was on task.  And my caring and loving heart was operating in its own way, broken and bursting with sorrow for this life ending.

It’s normal to ask yourself later, did I do what they needed? Did I do what they wanted? Could I have done better? Even with prior experience, I would suggest that we never become an expert, nor should we try. Every experience is the loss of a different life, human being, or pet, with whom we have a unique love.  There is no, finally getting it right.

The best advice I have for anyone who is blessed enough to be with a loved one at this sacred time, is to be present every single second that you can. That doesn’t mean only to be physically by their side. That is not always possible. It means to be present with them in your heart. Trying not to worry about yesterday or tomorrow. Minimizing distractions of all the things in your world that are suddenly so unimportant. Take it all in for what it is. Please, please, let them know they are loved. Show them. Tell them. Hold their hand. Laugh. Cry. Let them know you are okay. And oh, please, please take pictures and videos. Because there is no do-over.

I did not want Tim to die. Clearly would change it if I could.  But what I would never change is being with him - by his bed and sometimes in it, twenty-four seven, until he gave me what felt like final notice. Here I go. He opened his eyes and looked straight into mine and took his final breaths.

On May 22, 2019 we supported Tim out of this life as he took his last breath. Sincere love and gratitude for the friends and family who came to show their love in those last few days and to those by his side sharing this sacred moment: Leyla, Monica, Bill (RIP), Tom, Bryan, Amy, Isabella, Judy and Chuck

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