Skip navigation

Category Archives: dying

Wouldn’t it be great if we could just spend a week or two grieving for a loss, and then it would be done? No more sharp knives in the heart, no more waking up in the middle of the night, no more memories to constantly invade an otherwise routine day. But it seems like grief is the gift that keeps on giving. Attachments are made in this life, and love just naturally occurs. Severing that bond feels anything but natural.

My birth dad died several years ago, and his funeral was on New Years Eve. I had  never really cared for the holiday day before that, and I will never forget flying into our small town airport, having been through a tearful day of “good-byes”, as well as “hellos” to those I had not seen in a long time.  I knew that all I had hoped for in my relationship with my dad, would now never come to pass. We had known each other only on the surface, but had both longed for so much more. Distance and busy lives separated us, and sad to say, we let it. (You always think you’ll have more time.)

Not long after his death (about 5 months) my stepfather died. He had been in my life since I was age 7. Our relationship had been stormy initially, but developed into one of  the greatest miracles of my life. After I was married, and through the future years, we grew closer. He wasn’t one to have long heart to heart talks, but he often said “I love you” for no reason at all (other than the fact that he did.) The day that we found out that he needed triple bypass surgery, instead of being able to correct the problem with a stent, I cried in my car like he was already gone. My husband couldn’t understand why I  took it so hard that he would need the heart surgery, but there was a “knowing” in my spirit. I didn’t feel good about it, and I couldn’t stop crying. (Of course, I didn’t cry in front of him.) He came through the triple bypass fine, but succumbed to hospital acquired infections including pneumonia, staph, and serratia. We watched him dying through many long weeks of gasping for breath on a respirator in the ICU and CCU, and it was like a daily nightmare. Seeing him like that was so painful and heartbreaking, and even though I desperately wanted to have faith for him to live, it was apparent that minus a miracle, he wasn’t going to make it. When he died, we spent some moments as a family in his hospital room, that was eerily silent. No machines whirring, no beeps, no gasping for breath. Just a strange, stark silence.

He looked so big lying there. He was 6’4″, and I couldn’t imagine life without him. When the doctor had told us that he didn’t think Sam would make it, my mother said, (as we walked down the hospital corridor) “What am I gonna do?”

What were any of us going to do? He had represented strength to us, and a knowledge of so many things. He knew the answer to almost every question we had, and as long as Sam was around, every problem had a solution.

But once he was gone, life was brutal for my mom and me. Every day brought new discoveries of things that Sam had taken care of, that now we had to struggle with. Things like dragging the huge trashcan to the curb, wrestling to get groceries in the house after a full day of errands, a myriad of  doctor’s  appointments for my mom, bills and paperwork, house maintenance, applying for home insurance when their former insurance company left town (and being turned down by the first one, because there were too many things wrong with the aging house.)

Sometimes it seemed like all we did was fight to keep our heads above water.  I cried from exhaustion when alone at times, but mostly I just gritted my teeth, and forced my body to function when it was way past its ability. No one will ever know the toll those days took on us. I tried to compensate for what my mom couldn’t do, struggled to make sure that all her medications were filled on time, and taken properly, and was continually concerned about her diabetes, and her unpredictable episodes of low blood sugar that often scared the life out of me, until I could bring her around. Days were spent worrying about her, and nights were spent tossing and turning, with a cell phone always on and by my bed, waiting to proclaim the next catastrophe. This went on for 3 1/2 long years, and I could tell that my physical health and emotional health were declining rapidly. It felt like I was drowning, and I was trying to keep her head above water, while mine was going under for the third time. (I had lost both of my dads in the span of  5 months, and really had no chance to grieve, because there was always another crisis to get through. But no one seemed to see or care what I was dealing with. It was enough to break anyone, and there is no shame in that.)

I cried out to people around me, though honestly our family had gotten so small, there was really no one to cry out to. No one that could physically make a difference, except my brother. His total contribution had been to buy the groceries and eat them, on his lunch break every day. I never felt like I could ask him to do more, or that he would be willing to. My uncle, who lived in Atlanta, was a good sounding board, and seemed to “get” how terribly difficult this was becoming for me. He never made me feel guilty for feeling like I was about to collapse, and even though he is my mom’s brother, he advised me to do what I had to do to get out of the situation, if necessary, to protect my health.

My cousin Jack (who was more like a brother, as we had been raised together until I was 7) also wrote me one letter saying that I could only do what I was able to do. But several times after that, I talked with him, and he seemed to be reluctant to even have an opinion. When things got so bad, before my estrangement with my mom, I wrote him an email and left a couple of messages (reaching out once again), but I never got a reply. (This hurt, as we had been fairly close because of our childhood together.) To this day, I’ve never heard from him.  I changed my phone numbers so my “family” couldn’t torment me anymore, but he has always had my email address, if he wanted to reach me. He was in town for Christmas, but I was gone.  However, I doubt that he will ever contact me again. His loyalties are with my mom and brother.  It seems like this whole situation is fraught with collateral damage that couldn’t be avoided.

And I guess that is what I want to address in this post. Bereavement can cause such stress and strife in families, and the loss of my stepfather is what ultimately led to the estrangement between my mom and me. The stress of her care all falling on me, the responsibility for her happiness and well-being, the pressure to try and do the things that he had done for her, while still having to manage my own family and life, along with my mom’s increasing physical and mental problems, was just too much for our relationship.

There was some troubling history there already, though I had tried to ignore it for so long. But the more overwhelmed and tired I became (with almost no help, and the increase daily in serious problems–a broken right foot, a broken left leg, a broken right hip, and increasing dementia) then the more stressful the whole thing became. She became more and more belligerent  and rebellious. She refused to use her walker consistently, and kept falling over and over again, until I was at my wit’s end.  Now it was horribly affecting my health and well-being also. I spent half my life, it seemed, in the emergency room. Then she called me horrible names after all that I had done for her, and that was the last straw for me. As soon as I got her settled in a wonderful assisted living, my brother took her out against all medical advice, with his eye on inheriting the house. (If she had stayed in assisted living, her house would have needed to be sold, to finance her living arrangements, and he was adamantly against that. I just wanted her properly taken care of and supervised.) So I have not seen either of  them since before Thanksgiving 2008.

As you can see, there is a fallout from death. If you have not experienced it, consider yourself fortunate. It changes the family dynamic–it brings out greed in some people, and causes others to have to bear tremendous burdens alone. Many marriages are strained because of the resulting changes, and people’s lives are in the balance. Everyone can understand the pressures when a widow or widower is left to raise a child (or children) alone, but few people understand the effect that a very sick, obstinate, demanding, angry (and often just plain mean) elder, with increasing dementia can have on a primary caregiver.  For me, the problems were overwhelming, as I predict they will also eventually be for my brother, though he has help during the day (thank the Lord) when he works. I suspect that he does not have to attend every doctor appointment as I did. I had no help at all. 

Sadly, I found myself driving by the house tonight, under the cover of darkness, hoping to get a glimpse of my mother. But all I could see through the open door was my brother, standing at the sink.  I am grieving, because I will likely never see my mother again. I cared for her (and loved her) with everything in me, and tried so hard to keep her alive for the past 3 1/2 years. At times I thought maybe I would die before she did. (I take 9 medications, have diabetes and high blood pressure, and many other chronic medical problems.) Many days are a struggle for me to get through.  I gave up all my friends and social contacts, and really had little time for my daughter and husband. (Even less for myself.)

Many just do not realize how the loss of a family member changes SO much, and not just for the spouse, but for others also. And especially for those left to care for an aging, ailing parent (or small children) alone. I felt overwhelmed every day of my life.

I wish I could say that I felt numb now, or that I never think  of her or miss her. But I can’t.  She is usually the first thing on my mind every morning when I wake up, but then I remember her hateful words, and the despicable comments from my brother. That is when I pray for God to take this pain from my heart, and to help me to forgive.  I still love my mother, but I don’t feel anything for my brother.  I think indifference is much worse than hatred. At least there’s some passion and feeling in hatred.

Forgiveness is just like grieving, I guess. It doesn’t happen all at once. It’s a process. Wounds take time to heal, and anyone who says differently has never suffered heartbreak at the hands of  others. But if God says that forgiveness is possible, then I will trust that He is right.

So I guess I just needed to get that out tonight. All in all, my life is a lot better now, though my physical health is still a problem.  I still suffer from a sleep disorder. My heart will probably ache for the rest of my life over how this turned out, but God can also heal broken hearts. There is a limit to what a person can endure, and my death would not have enhanced my mom’s remaining time here on earth. 

I know that my brother is getting a dose of reality, though she will never likely emotionally abuse him, as she did me (all my life.) When you feel loved unconditionally (as he is by my mom) things are certainly easier to tolerate. But she never loved me like that, no matter how hard I tried to please her,  and I’ll never understand why.

This song is for those who have lost someone that you loved, through death or otherwise…

My husband and I are using all our free time getting everything done to move my mom into her assisted living apartment. The paperwork required is unbelievable, including everything from doctors, prescription meds, personal history, likes and dislikes, hobbies, daily activities, etc. We worked on it tonight until midnight. So exhausting. Tomorrow I have to deal with power of attorney issues, medical information gathering, and shopping for the basics, as well as going by her house to get some of the neccessities.

Every day from now on will be spent running here and there, trying to get it all done.  Endless requirements for a smooth transition. So much to do, and I’ve been having troubling chest pains. I feel the stress of it all, and I feel helpless to slow down, because I can’t. I am SOOOOOOO tired already, and the worst part is still to come. Doctor’s appointments, moving her to the temporary room, getting her furniture delivered to the permanent room, getting it decorated, buying the necessities, and moving the rest from her home, coordinating medication orders, care orders, etc. I won’t bore you with all of it, but it is massive. Please pray for my health, strength and peace. The last 3 1/2 years of my life have been so stressful.

I am so glad that none of us know when the journey ends, for that would take away the wonder of life, and the hope. It is so much better not to know, but to be aware that it WILL end; therefore, we need to live every day, in that reality. Lately, I want to breathe more deeply, laugh more heartily, and cry to the depths of my soul. I want to experience life in all its wonder.  It has become more meaningful to me in the last few years, because of my losses, and because of its relative brevity…

Please see other articles that I have written here:

http://www.associatedcontent.com/user/109497/lonnette_harrell.html

Lonnette Harrell

I was listening to a song tonight that said “there are two kinds of trouble in this world–living and dying.” Somehow it struck me to the core.

Dying seems like a horrible option. I don’t care how long we’ve lived, or how much we’ve suffered, the struggle to let go of this life cannot be an easy one. The life force is so strong, that we will go through many things, in hopes of staying alive.

I remember reading Tuesdays With Morrie, and thinking how much Morrie fought to remain on this earth, when almost every pleasure had been taken from him, and he was able to do nothing more than lie in bed. Yet he lived every moment of his slow death. Having once been a professor, he continued to teach a favorite past student. But the lessons weren’t the textbook variety. They were life lessons. Lessons about how to live, and how to die.

Many of us don’t learn these lessons until we are actually dying. But then it’s too late to go back and redo the story. It is what it is.

Here’s a novel concept–what if you were to live like you were dying? How would your life be different?

Most of us have been there momentarily, when we’ve gotten bad news. Not long ago, I was told that I could have kidney cancer. Many days passed before the test.  And then there was the actual day of the kidney x-ray, with the contrast material. Then once again, many days passed waiting for an answer. Waiting, and waiting, and waiting for the results. In a way, life came to a standstill while I waited. But I was doing a lot of thinking.

Maybe you’ve been through something similar. Suddenly all the things that seemed so important–aren’t, and all the things that didn’t–are. Petty arguments are of no consequence, and money and material possessions don’t mean a thing.

What really matters is faith, family, and friends. You don’t have time to guess about whether you’re right with God anymore. You have to know. You have to be sure. And those people that you thought you’d always be with (for many years in the future) become closer to your heart with every passing moment, and leaving them seems painfully impossible. Good friends become the support you need with reassurance, comfort and prayers. (And it’s then that you really learn who your friends are.)

Somewhere along the way, it crosses your mind that your life could really be over, and you wonder what you’ve accomplished. Did you live for the Lord, and to love and help others? Did you make a difference in anyone’s life? Was there a reason that you were here?

Some people never think on these things until they are dying, or someone close to them dies.

Funerals are sad events, but people are probably never more open to receiving the Lord, as they become in those moments, because they are forced to decide if they believe in an afterlife, heaven, hell, Jesus, eternal life, salvation, seeing loved ones again, etc. In this busy world, minus a tragedy, many people aren’t going to stop and focus on the purpose of their life–because they are so busy living it. It was John Lennon who said, “Life is what happens to you, while you’re busy making other plans.”

I have had a loved one taken from me unexpectedly. (Several in fact.) At that moment, you are shaken to the depths. You would give anything to have one more day, and most of the time, so would they. But the final chapter on earth ends, and it’s over. (Ready or not.)

It turns out that I did not have kidney cancer, and I can tell you that the sky looked bluer, and the sun shone brighter the day that I received the good news. But I began to think of all the people that don’t get good news–the ones who had been waiting, just like I was. (But they were not as fortunate in their diagnosis.) It happens every day.

So what’s my point? I think you know by now. It comes down to this–how would life be different, if we would all live like we were dying?…

Please read other articles that I have written here:

http://www.associatedcontent.com/user/109497/lonnette_harrell.html