My mother recently died. She was 93 years of age, and she was “ripe and ready.” I believe this with my whole heart, and that helps me accept the fact I’ll never see her again in this lifetime. She expressed to me her readiness more than once. Considering all the circumstances with which she lived these last few years, and especially her final few weeks, I totally get it. Enough is enough. And I believe the end-of-life feels better to all involved when that is the case. My mother lived a life of service, to her family, her church, her community and in more roles than I could possibly name here. Once she was no longer able to be of service, she really saw no point in being alive.
I remember when my grandfather expressed similar sentiments. He lived a longer life than my mother by a couple of years. His wife, my grandmother, had been dead for over twenty years, and he didn’t understand why his life continued so long without her. Hadn’t he told her when she lay dying that he’d be with her soon? Why, Granddaddy wondered, did God keep him alive? I told him perhaps he was alive for our benefit, for his descendants. He was a loving man, had a sharp mind and plenty of excellent memories, and it was a pleasure to visit with him. But in his perspective, this was not enough to continue year after year. He felt, with confidence, his death would reunite him with his beloved. When he eventually died on Christmas Day, I felt grateful. What a perfect gift he received!
When my father received a diagnosis of terminal cancer, it came as an unwelcome surprise. At 84 years of age, he felt full of life and was eager to live much longer. There were many things he wished to accomplish and to experience. Shortly before his death three years hence, he again expressed his “life wish” and anger at the circumstances which were bringing his life to an end. Then, in his final few days, his perspective shifted. Pain caused by relentless tumor growth became untenable. His last days and hours were spent in rituals of parting, as he expressed gratitude, completion and eternal love to each of his loved ones. I was with him as he welcomed death and the relief it brought from his condition.
I had been with my late husband, sharing our loving relationship, a second marriage for us both, for eleven wonderful years, when we learned he had inoperable pancreatic cancer. We weren’t ready to receive this news. Neither had we prepared adequately in the legal end-of-life testamentary sense nor in the sense of having shared enough of our life and love. No, we felt we’d just begun to begin as husband and wife. They say: “Time goes by quickly when you’re having fun,” and I can attest to the truth in that.
His diagnosis was shocking, and as the weeks and months went by, we did our best to face the inevitable outcomes. Nonetheless, eleven rounds of chemo, daily intravenous hydration therapy and rapidly ebbing strength took their toll on the possibilities. We had not acted quickly enough to make many of the desired changes—a new will and a trust, among them. My husband had lost the ability to take certain actions and make certain decisions, so he entrusted his daughters and me with carrying out his chosen plans, at least those he could still convey.
I was glad we could support him in our home for most of his illness’s duration. When he could no longer climb stairs to go to his bedroom, we equipped our family room with a hospital bed, wheelchair, portable commode and other amenities to assist in his comfort care. I slept nearby on the couch so I could give him oral pain medications during the night if he needed them. I wanted to be close and hear his every request. He managed very bravely until the point where he did not, and could not, any longer. He lost the ability to swallow pills, and he needed them to ease his increasing discomfort. He was very disgruntled with his current “life” circumstances, no longer able to support himself to go the bathroom, etc. This stage became upsetting to him and very concerning to me. Had we “had enough” of our intended mission to allow him to die at home?
I explained our present situation and asked the palliative care doctor if it was time for me to call for help. The doctor agreed the best next step was in the hospital palliative care ward, where IVs or injections were immediately available, and the heavy load of care responsibilities wouldn’t fall on me alone. The hospital staff was very helpful, and my husband was able to be with his three daughters and with me in a setting of attentive and responsive comfort care. Within another day and a half, he passed away, peacefully and seemingly at ease, surrounded by loved ones. I was somewhat sad about not being able to keep him at home throughout his dying days, but then I acknowledged the comfort hospital care had provided, which I alone could not.
Nine months after his diagnosis of Stage IV pancreatic cancer, my life partner, best friend and true love had lived enough life and transitioned to whatever comes next. I encouraged him to look for me, next time around, earlier in life than he had in this lifetime. He smiled and said to me, “Julie, you will live a wonderful life. You’ll see.” I’m doing my best to make his last wish for me come true.
When a person has lost his or her primary reasons for living, a readiness to die ensues. Likewise, when painful circumstances make the continuation of one’s life unappealing, this contributes to a sense of “enough is enough.” While suffering is not something we wish for ourselves or our loved ones, having a period of intense suffering may be one of the factors that helps us prepare to face our life’s end.
How much life is enough? Perhaps the answer to that question is one we will each know in our own good time. Reaching the point of knowing that is a blessing many do not get to experience and one for which we may be thankful if we are among those who do. Then may we readily embrace the sentiment: rest in peace.
I am grateful for these living examples of “dying readiness” my loved ones have shared with me.
“‘Enough’ is a feast.” – Buddhist Proverb
Post written by Julie Saeger Nierenberg
Julie Saeger Nierenberg is a freelance writer and editor, lifelong educator and artist, a proud parent and "grand-partner." Julie lives in Canada. Inspired by the experience of her father’s dying and death, Julie published a short memoir about her family’s grief and loss. Daddy, this is it. Being-with My Dying Dad launched a true journey of connection and transformation, as Julie reached out to share it with those who assist the dying and bereaved. Following that memoir's publication, Julie received numerous end-of-life perspectives from others, some of which are available in Journey's End: Death, Dying and the End of Life. Writing and publishing in this heart-led direction, Julie hopes to contribute to a cultural shift in how we prepare and support others in the final chapter of life. Julie also enjoys writing and editing legacy writing, fiction and nonfiction works; she feels privileged to help other writers succeed.
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