Giving A Good Death Ending
In this article, we’ll share suggestions on how you can give your care recipient a good death. After all, giving a good death is the culmination of the caregiving experience - a great way for you and your care recipient to start your new journeys.
The most satisfying moments for me when I work with the elderly and their families is the participation, even as an observer only, of a wonderful send-off, a beautiful death. I can’t imagine a greater gift you can give a family member or friend than a death that represents the care recipients themselves - prayful, loving or humorous.
One of the best deaths I have witnessed also happened to involve a family member. My mother’s sister, Nancy, had been diagnosed with breast cancer and, we hoped, beat it. But several years later, the cancer re-occurred and spread. When the cancer won the battle, her six adult children gathered–one returned from Europe to become her full-time caregiver, another arrived from California for an extended visit. Aunt Nancy lived at home until her last Sunday afternoon–when her breathing became difficult. Fearful of that feeling–and of dying at home, her sanctuary–she requested admittance to the Hospice unit of her hospital.
At least one child remained with Aunt Nancy 24 hours a day throughout her last five days. During the day, my parents or other relatives gathered to be with Aunt Nancy, now in a coma. Aunt Nancy had carried prayer cards with her in a special gift bag; when the pressure of fighting for health become too much, she turned to a prayer card. To offer her comfort now, her daughter Sue would pick a card for us to read aloud; my mother would encourage us to stand in a circle and hold hands, as Sue read aloud the prayer. Then, my mother would suggest a prayer we could all say–Hail Mary, Our Father. We continued the chain of prayers for the next five days.
On Friday evening, Aunt Nancy’s breathing changed and the end seemed very near. We gathered again for song and prayer, and each child voiced their last message to their mother: Their love and admiration for her, their assurance that she could go, they would be okay. We could almost feel how much Aunt Nancy wanted to stay. The Hospice nurse suggested that we leave the room, and give Aunt Nancy some space. My mother, my cousin and I remained–and at that time Aunt Nancy passed. The nurse asked the children back into the room to say one final “Good-bye”. Later, the nurse explained that Aunt Nancy could feel our energy, which made leaving for her that much difficult. When the energy left, Aunt Nancy could finish her journey.
Now, after told that part of the story, you probably think, “What a great family–how close and loving!” Of couse, all families have their struggles. The relationship between my Aunt Nancy and her children and between her and my mother was full of pain, hurt and bitterness. Perhaps that’s what makes her death that much more beautiful. I particularly feel her death gave us two gifts.
My aunt caused my mother tremendous pain over the years–but I think my mother now remembers most how close they were in my Aunt’s death. One evening, my aunt awoke briefly from her coma. She seemed somewhat stunned at the amount of visitors in her room–we did have a tendency to pack in her semi-private room like sardines. But the reaction that I will always remember was how glad, how relieved, she was to see my mother with her. It was almost like she felt, “Well, my sister is here. I don’t have to worry about anything.” After all the years of misunderstandings and hurt feelings, it was wonderful to see just how strongly my aunt felt about my mother, and when jealously and self-doubt are eliminated, how much she loved her. That was our first gift.
My older sister had really resented my aunt’s treatment of my mother over the years. She found it difficult to be with my aunt because to her, my aunt represented Pain, Anger, Bitterness. Out of respect for my mom, my sister stopped to see my aunt during her last days in the hospital. She visited and prayed with my cousins and sat with my aunt. After my aunt’s funeral, she told me what an amazing experience it had been to be with Aunt Nancy. She confessed that she hadn’t wanted to see Aunt Nancy, but that being with her was the best therapy, it was really like forgiving Aunt Nancy. When she thinks of Aunt Nancy, she doesn’t necessarily first remember her in a negative way–but that she died surrounded by loving family. That was our second gift, a lesson about how important our involvement in our loved ones’ deaths is.
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