Even though we all know we’ll be exiting this world, everything changes when we are given a rough idea of our time of departure. Our entire focus shifts, and we begin to see both life and death differently.
Each person approaches death uniquely. Most of us go through the stages of grief—denial, sadness, anger, depression, and acceptance—but we vary in the amount of time spent in each stage, and some people repeat the cycle at ever deepening levels.
In addition, dying people often face physical challenges. They may feel sick or in pain or be medicated. They could be dealing with loss of mobility, energy, or options. They may be faced with giving up their home, activities, work, or lifestyle.
Let the dying person set their own limits for how often and how openly the two of you discuss their death. But do make it clear that you’re available for such a discussion.
“Gram, do you want to talk about this at all? I want to be here for you any way you need me.”
“Aunt Jessie, if you have thoughts about dying or leaving home, I’ll listen. I care about you. You sure have been through a lot of changes.”
If you need to convey your own feelings about the person’s illness and death, let them pick the time. For example: “Carrie, could we have a little talk, sometime when you feel like it?”
Don’t keep bringing up their death in casual conversation, however. When someone is dying, they usually try to get in as much living as they can. If they’re drinking in the beauty of a rose, don’t mention that it’s probably their last summer. This is like drenching them in ice water. A tactless comment can interrupt their deep and rich living—and take them out of fully experiencing the moment.
Sarah was traversing her last fall. She loved the brilliant leaves of the maple tree outside her bedroom window. She noticed, though, that it seemed to be losing its leaves too quickly. One afternoon she saw her sister shaking the tree.
“What are you doing?” Sarah called in horror.
Maggie answered, “I’m raking leaves. I’m trying to get the leaves out of this tree so I can be done.”
If you live with a dying person, don’t be in a hurry to close off the seasons. Don’t rush to put away holiday touches. Who cares if the Christmas tree stays up a few weeks longer? If your loved one is gaining pleasure from the beauty of a decoration, don’t be confined by arbitrary time limits.
Be careful about making statements such as “You look great” or “You don’t look sick at all.” While someone concerned about their appearance can be reassured by such a comment, a different person might be insulted, as if you think appearance really matters, even though much more important things are happening. Yet another person might feel you are doubting their diagnosis or invalidating their dying process.
Be mindful about reporting the latest remedies you’ve heard about. We do this because we want to be sure a loved one has every opportunity for recovery. But by now the dying person is probably an expert on their disease. They probably know much more about it than you do, and they’ve likely been considering their options extensively. If they are finished weighing pros and cons and have already made the difficult decision about how aggressively to fight their condition, new information can be upsetting. If they are at peace with a decision, your well-meaning enthusiasm for a treatment you read about in a weekly magazine can be stressful. They may feel obligated to look into it when, in fact, they’ve already moved past the decision-making stage and are focused on something else. This could take them backward instead of forward.
Sometimes a death sentence can be a relief to someone who has had a hard life. It’s permission to let go and quit trying. No matter how much we love that person, those of us on the outside must let them make the choice to die. We each have sovereignty over this basic issue. Lecturing someone on the ways they might fight to live can be a burden.
Some people do fight to live, of course. They want to know of every remedy, every research article, every smidgeon of information about their disease. That person will probably welcome what you’ve found. The simplest way to do the right thing is to ask. For example, “Do you want to know about the remedies that have helped other people with this problem?”
There’s no easy way to lose someone you love, whether they go precipitously or by inches. Each aspect of loss hits us hard. Yet the way we choose to handle our feelings about our loved one can convey respect and protect them from further burdens.
As my beloved grandmother approached death, I wanted to be sure she understood what she meant to me. Yet to blurt out my feelings without considering her own ways and needs could have led to an unsatisfying experience for both of us.
She was of a generation of Midwestern women who didn’t speak of feelings or of powerful experiences. She was accustomed to people who put a pleasant face on things, regardless of what was actually happening.
She departed slowly, over a span of years. It was hard to watch. Each time she lost a part of her life—when she no longer cared to be taken on car rides, when she could no longer talk on the phone, when I couldn’t get her to eat—I felt fresh grief. Each loss hurt like fire.
I didn’t ask her to help me process the grief I felt. I wanted to be mindful of what she was comfortable with. Thus I would mostly show rather than speak my love—by reading to her, or stroking her hand, or devising activities she’d be interested in.
Having said all this, it can be a great relief when two close people share their grief. For some people, putting a positive face on things can be a strain. If someone prefers to express their honest feelings, let them—in fact, encourage them to. Just by crying in each other’s arms, we can be energized into another episode of living.
Mary’s father had alternately terrorized and abandoned their family. If the cash was flowing from his factory job, he drank and beat her mother, Mary, and her two younger sisters. If he had been laid off, he drank till the money was gone, beat everyone, and went fishing with his buddies. Mary was fifteen when he was booted out of the factory for the last time for making an expensive mistake while under the influence. He took the family silver and the midnight train and disappeared.
Mary proclaimed good riddance, but her mother struggled. She worked her hands raw as a cleaning lady and got her girls educated enough to make a better life for themselves and then died from exhaustion. Mary’s father missed the funeral and every other significant event from then on.
Mary grew up, married a man who didn’t hit women, and raised a family. She was a generous, caring woman, but the fear planted by late-night howls and fists never left her. Fear kept her from taking the chances that would have let her study music and do something with a mellow honeyed voice. It kept her from adventuring into wild-river rafting in her mountain community, something she longed to try but couldn’t risk. Fear enclosed her life like a Plexiglas cage and influenced all her choices.
Her father finally showed up—when he was dying from liver cancer and emphysema. He lay in the hospital and asked his daughters to succor him.
At one point Mary handed him a glass of water and in a fit of irritation, he hit her arm hard and sent the glass flying. I would probably have walked out at that point. Even if a person is dying, we still get to protect our boundaries. We do not have to give up our safety for the sake of a sick person.
Mary grabbed his wrist, leaned over, and got close to his face. “Do not strike me. Do not ever hit or slap me. Never again.” Her tone was firm and quietly powerful. He never tried it again.
His life, however, influenced his death. His other daughters and their children wanted nothing to do with him and would not visit him. His lingering years were lonely ones.
Mary tried to talk with him about the things that had happened. It would have helped her healing if he could have said out loud that he had made their childhood home miserable. He wouldn’t respond or acknowledge any of his acts. He wouldn’t help her. She had to let go of the hope that he would turn into a loving and caring parent.
Close to his last days, she was able to sit with him. Just before he died, she said to him, “I forgive you.” She was not through with her anger or grief at all that had happened, but she let him go spiritually.
She handled this process in an honorable way and kept good boundaries. She wouldn’t let him abuse her. She didn’t abuse him. She tried to talk about the things important to her. When he ignored her, she understood she would never get what she needed from him and protected herself by not continuing to try.
We keep ourselves stuck when we try relentlessly to get what another person can never give. To keep pushing for it violates both of us. The other is violated because an emotional limit is pummeled. We violate ourselves by putting our energy into a person who can’t respond with what we need.
To forgive him released her in a spiritual way. It cut the cord of looking to him for completion of the broken matters between them. In some cases premature forgiveness cuts off the healing process, but this time, when she had tried to work out things appropriately, forgiving him set her free.
BOUNDARIES TO KEEP WITH A DYING ABUSER
• Do not harm them.
• Do not violate their boundaries. This will only pile up heavy costs for you.
• Do not let them violate you.
• Don’t give more than you can afford to give.
• Don’t sacrifice yourself, your time, your health, your family, or your financial security for the dying person.
• Find ways to approach getting what you need from the other in order to have closure. If the other is unable to respond, let it go after a reasonable try.
Do make an effort to discuss the things that have hurt you. Give it a good try. Find alternative ways to present the idea of talking things out. If they categorically refuse, ask if they’ll consider talking later. (It’s okay to bring up the idea of talking more than once, but let yourself know when it’s hopeless to engage the other in an open discussion.)
If you can’t get as full a discussion as you’d like, think about ways to get pieces of what you need. Sometimes a person can’t talk about a whole series of abuses, but they can talk about one incident. Sometimes they’ll resist a discussion with accurate words, but can stand a metaphorical conversation.
If the person in your life isn’t capable of any level of honesty, at some point you’ll protect yourself by letting go of the effort to get what they can’t give.
Some dying people want to clean up their pasts. As death approaches, the mists lift and some people can evaluate their errors with clarity. If this person wants to talk, expressing remorse for past harmful acts, let them. Listen. Some well-meaning relatives try to squelch the flow—“Oh, no, Pops. It’s okay.”
Don’t make this mistake. Admitting wrong is a spiritually liberating process, and releases the injured person in a way nothing else can. An eleventh-hour housecleaning can free both people tremendously.
It’s wonderful for the whole family to let light shine on the darkness. Considering how many years of harm are done by abuse, it’s amazing how quickly healing spreads when the truth is told.