To the Ones Welcoming Death

Letters to my patients, day 24

Photo by Maksym Kaharlytskyi on Unsplash

I want my parents to die in their sleep.

Not now, of course. At the early age of 50, they have so much to live for. Someone has to babysit my kids!

But when their time comes, as death finds each of us, I want it to be fast. No escalating chronic illnesses that tie them to doctor’s offices 3 times a week and keep them from taking any vacations. I have seen enough long-term care facilities taking poor care of their bedridden patients and hope to avoid that. And if possible, let’s keep our mentation intact.

Idealistic, I know.

However, you are facing the alternative with your parents — after fighting cancer for 3 years, it has returned. This time, it will be the life-defining illness. There is no cure, it will take their life. And suddenly, you are forced to prepare for death’s visit on an unknown itinerary.

Tonight you collapse into bed. Even though you choose to be the supportive child day after day, it is exhausting. Emotions raw, you close your eyes and mourn the anticipated goodbye to the person you have loved the longest.

And tomorrow, you will begin the preparations to welcome death.

Death can occur in an instant or make its way through the body one organ at a time. You hope death comes quick. Then guilt overwhelms you — how could you hope for death.

Wait wait, you say, I was not hoping for death, just that it would come quickly.

Your heart is conflicted. The thought of this final goodbye tears you apart but the thought of their release from pain and suffering is relieving.

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It is okay to wish for death.

You are coming from a place of love, wanting to see the end of pain and suffering.

Prepare your heart to welcome death — have the hard conversations, make the funeral preparations, speak the love you have felt all these years, write the will, hug hello and goodbye every day. Regardless of how death arrives, you do not need to feel guilty for opening the door and carrying its suitcase into the guest room. Because death is a gracious guest when it’s welcomed into a prepared, open space. Grief will still come, but peace will not be far behind. The circumstances soften, ushering in a reverent end.

And when the body decides it no longer needs air, it can release the last breath into the world and find total rest.

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When you are wishing for death, take what you need:

I will do what I can to make the end peaceful.

It is natural to hope for a quick, painless death.

I will say the things I need to, speak the truth, say I love you.

I will resist the temptation to feel guilty about this.

I am doing the best I can.

When the time comes, I will welcome death with an open heart. It is a natural part of life on this earth.

I will continue to allow grief to take its course. This will get better.

This has been a hard journey, I will keep taking it one day at a time.

Thank you for being here,

Other similar letters:

To the Ones Who May Never Be Cured

To the Ones Facing Death

To the Caregiving Children

This is part of a 31-day series of letters to my patients — those undergoing a work-up, diagnosis, or treatment for cancer. Topics are also focused on those caregiving and supporting individuals affected by cancer. This is not an easy journey, but you do not have to do it alone.