Since becoming an advocate fro Dying Matters, I have had many conversations with strangers about death and dying. It isn't as morbid as it sounds. A good death can be a very uplifting event. In our family, Mom's death, although expected, changed our lives forever. Thankfully, we had good advice and great support and it made a very difficult day more bearable, to know that Mom had passed away peacefully in her own bed, at home, with no intervention. It is this simple act of kindness from a stranger, helping us through that day, that makes me want to share with other families.
I had a conversation with a professional acquaintance today. After our business was concluded we chatted for a while over coffee, and she told me that her mother has been diagnosed with breast cancer and her mother in law died recently, suddenly, from a brain haemorrhage. These two seemingly unconnected events have rocked her family and called into question whether it is better to die suddenly or to have time to plan for death.
Rather selfishly, I was very grateful for the few months my mother was given. We got to know each other again, and we made plans for the future, a future without Mom but with happiness. This was important for both of us.
I recall that several friends and family wanted to see Mom in her final days. As a family we asked them to keep their visits short and not to bring cakes. Mom didn't need much food, just a few sips of water and finally just sucking on a soft, wet toothbrush. People feel awkward around death and the dying and brought cakes regardless, because it made them feel better. We were grateful for their visits, but it wasn't helpful for Mom, especially when they left in floods of tears.
I do wonder how we would have felt if Mom had gone suddenly. It was, after all, medical intervention which saved her life, only to diagnose her with lung cancer within days of Christmas five years ago.
On the day Mom died, the community nurse pulled the sheet back and quietly pointed out the colour on Mom's foot. It was the first sign, she said, that the dying process had started. She spoke quietly, because hearing is the last sense to go and actually becomes quite acute before death. The tumours had taken Mom's sight, and her eyes were opaque, but she could hear us and feel our gentle touches. The nurse asked if we wanted Mom catheterised. We decided against it. She wasn't eating and only sucking on the toothbrush so we didn't feel there would be much need. A TENA pad would do.
Mom's foot was pale grey, with a very weak pulse. She couldn't speak, just a rasping gurgle came from her lips. My brother phoned from Australia and we held the phone to her ear while he said his goodbyes. Mom needed no pain relief that day - the pain receptors along with most other functions had already ceased their activity. Afterwards, I helped the nurse bathe Mom and change her into a lovely clean nightdress. I picked some flowers from the garden and placed them on her chest. Everything was very quiet. The oxygen machine had been turned off and we were lost in our own thoughts.
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This was our experience. If you would like to know more, a new guide has been published by the National Council for Palliative Care. 'What to expect when someone important to you is dying' is available from shop.dyingmatters.org and costs £2.50.