Two years ago, my day had liver and kidney failure suddenly. I was with him for the last 3 days when he came home under hospice and I sat with him for the last 3 hours until his death. At the end I saw his skin mottle and go grey, his breathing speeding up and then he suddenly breathed his last breath. It was a terrible awful 3 days. The last 3 hours were horrible. I can see you all have been through much worse, but it really affected me. After that I felt so detached for a long time. It was like the world was foreign to me...like I wasn't connected to it anymore. It took me a long time to get over this.
Then this past weekend I was visiting my mom (who is 84) who hasn't been doing well. As I was sitting across from her I saw the skin on her left hand suddenly change color in the same way I saw my dad's skin change just before he died. That lasted for awhile and then lightened a bit. I had an immediate panic attack. I had to go into the bathroom and calm myself down. Then when I came home I am experiencing all that detachment and upsetness all over again. I thought I got over this...evidently not.
My aunt is living with me and will probably die here at some point...maybe in front of me.
I am not cut out for all these elderly people dying in front of me thing. I am so stressed out with all this. I am such a wreck since last weekend when I saw that sudden skin mottling in my mom. I know people get old and die but this is too much for me to have them die in front of me over and over.
I can't do this anymore. How do you get over this? Everyday I am waiting for the call from the place where my mom is saying she has died or maybe going downstairs and finding my aunt dead. I feel like my life has turned into death row.
What I do have regrets about was not being there when my grandmother died 12 years ago. I was living in California and got a call from my cousin in NC that Memee was in the hospital but "it's not serious". Deep down I knew I should get on a plane right away. A day later we discovered that she had had a brain stem stroke and the end was near. I got on the first plane I could but didn't get there in time to say goodbye. She raised me and we had a fraught relationship but it took me years to get over not being there.
Death is a taboo subject in the American culture. We spend millions on "birthing" books but nobody buys a book on dying. No one talks about watching a loved one die, so there is no learning about what happens in the process from others. There are sights, sounds and possibly smells that assult our senses. It is part of the process. Birth is actually an estetically "ugly" process also but we embrace that.
The problem is that we are very emotionally connected to the dying person. We don't want to see them in the most primal human condition such as foaming at the mouth, skin turning purplish, feeling icy cold to the touch. It is part of passing over but it scares us. We want to "help" them so they don't suffer.
It sounds funny to educate ourselves on the dying process but we inform ourselves of all the diseases and treatments that our LO has, sometimes becoming "experts" at their care. We need to inform ourselves for the end stage also.
Take advantage of hospice. The nurses can (and I do) explain each phase and what causes it. It seems to ease the families' anxiety. We are traumatized because we are helpless.
I've known a few people who described how unprepared they were for things like the mottling of the skin, the death rattle, etc. that accompanies the actual dying. Some became so alarmed that they called 911 and had the person taken to the hospital - because they could not deal with the actual dying process signs and symptoms - even though the patient was adamant about wanting to die at home.
When you love someone a lot and they die whether it be in their 20th or 90th year it's going to hurt. Taking me, me, me out of the equation is easier said than done. It's got nothing to do with being selfish or unselfish.
So great for you that you are unaffected by it. Go give yourself a pat on the back and stop criticizing others for having feelings.
What you do afterwards is mourn the absence of that person, grieve for the gap they leave in your life, not for the way they died, and take the time you need to do it properly. This is not trauma, this is grief.
My younger brother died in an accident abroad. Aged 18. Totally unforeseen. Now that was traumatic. It triggered my father's decline in health and eventual death at the relatively young age of 53. I was unexpectedly at home, having come down from university for a meeting. He slept on the ground floor and died alone during that night. My mother came and woke me up at 5.30 am with a small tot of whisky each and we toasted his memory with tears pouring down our faces. Then I got up, went down and looked at my father, disabled for all the years of my life, and he was lying on the floor, face down, dead. We had waited for this for 6 months. The grief of his passing gripped me for ten years, but I was not traumatised. I had to break the news to my younger sisters, still at school, and one of them, aged 14, took it badly. But even that passed.
Our house was already sold to pay family debts, we had no money, life was tough but we had to cope and carry on. My mother was a tower of strength and her daughters supported her. If we had fallen about being traumatised, she would have boxed our ears for being so selfish. We all grieved later, in our own way.
Decades later my mother died at home three days before I was due to come and visit her from abroad. I felt cheated at the time, but recognised she had always wanted to "go" on her own terms - no nursing homes, no deathbed scene - and she was carried off by an unexpected heart attack, after pulling a carpet straight. Not wise if you are in your 89th year.
So, I am afraid I am really unsympathetic. Death is such a normal part of being mortal. Take it in your stride.
The thing that comforts me is my faith. My Mom was a strong, Christian woman who knew she was going to heaven. Knowing that she knew that and that I will possibly see her again one day comforts me.
I am in no way pushing religion on anyone. Just stating my reality. If someone does not agree with it, fine.
I understand your point completely (whether it's worse to be there or not). My mom is clearly heading toward hospice at this point. I can't even imagine holding it together during the intake with the hospice folks, let alone watching her die. I am so anxious (in case anyone didn't figure that out!) that I would definitely panic and want to run out of the room if I saw the rattle and the other signs. I would for sure be traumatized.
Sometimes I watch her sleeping peacefully and even take a photo to try to "prepare" myself.
Although, I know if I had not been there I would have had to live with that as well. So, which is harder? I can't answer that one.
Hospice had told me that often when the end comes the patient has a "death rattle". The sound of their breathing,
With my Mom, that rattle started at 4pm and lasted until death at 6am the next morning.
It is horrible to hear. It is loud, you will not mistake it even if you never heard it before.
It haunts me.
A few years later I was with my husband when he died, and I could feel his spirit pass. A much better experience for me, but I still needed counseling later. I used both private and group grief therapy.
Another thing that helped me was wise words from a friend whose 2 teen sons were murdered. "The hardest thing was getting up in the morning, but do it. Get up, clean up and suit up, show up." That meant leaving the house every day. After awhile life got easier.
Thanks to all of you.