Sitting by a loved one’s bedside as they take their last breath

Nothing can prepare you for that Phone call. I’ve been there many times. As a young boy, the phone call in the middle of the night. Your mother answers the phone. She starts crying. Grandmother is dead. From that very first time, the grieving family, the open casket, the funeral and the burial, you dread every phone call at odd hours. Each day that passes, each birthday, each milestone event, you hope that your parents will make it to then.

Time goes by, your parents get older. The day gets closer.

You grow up, become an adult. Other family and friends have passed. You start your own family but all the time you worry and dread that phone call in the night.

You move to a different state, you visit them, they visit you. Each goodbye seems like the last one. Met with dread and grief.

And then one unsuspecting day you get a phone call. Not in the night this time but while you are at work.

“Son, it’s Dad. Mum died during the night. In her sleep”

The day you have been dreading all your life has come. You turn to your colleague. They look at you. They already know. The blood has drawn from you face. The shock is apparent. They call a taxi. You head home. Everything is in Slow Motion. There is no grieving yet. Just shock.

From here on in, your life is in slow motion but the world around you continues. Why hasn’t everyone else stopped. Don’t they know my Mother has died? Why are the children still laughing next door. Why I am I still getting telemarketing calls?

You book the flight, a return ticket. A week should be enough. You go to bed, reminisce of the past. Her loving care when you were sick during the night as a child. Her home cooked meals. Her cheekiness with my Father.

The night is long. You fall asleep crying. You wake up crying. Until you can cry no more.

The flight to your child-hood home is surreal. You look out the window. Still, tears flow. The passengers and staff can tell but are powerless to help.

Your Father meets you at the arrival gate. He’s surprisingly strong. He always has been. That’s his job.

You visit the funeral home. Open casket. There she is. Lying motionless. Peaceful. You say your goodbyes. Family and friends are grieving. Some uncontrollably. Sometimes it’s sadder to watch the grief than to grieve about the loss.

The funeral passes. You return home. Life goes on. Until you get that phone call.

“Son, it’s Dad. I’ve been feeling unwell lately. The doctor says I have cancer. I don’t have long”.

You travel backwards and forwards. Plane trip after plan trip. Balancing your own life with the diminishing one of your Father. There is no cure. He as weeks. Maybe days.

You get that phone call.

“David. It’s Doctor Svensen. Your Father only has a few days. At the most. You need to come as soon as you can”.

The world is in slow motion again. You book a one-way ticket. You don’t know how long you will be. How long he has left.

He’s not there to pick you up at the airport. To hold you while you grieve. It’s your turn to be strong. For him. In his last days.

He’s lying in the hospital bed. Asleep. Attached to heart monitors, oxygen mask. Intravenous drip. His breathing is slow.

You spend an hour with him before a hospital counsellor leads you to a room. They explain what will happen. He is dying. There is not long to go. Maybe a few hours.

A steady stream of family and friends stream by his bed. All saying their goodbyes.

The priest arrives. Gives him his last rites.

You are too afraid to leave his bedside. Fearful that he will die alone. The oxygen mask is removed. The intravenous drip is removed. Only the heart monitor remains. You spray some water into his mouth and on his lips to keep them moist. You talk to him. Thank him for being a good father. You tell him you love him.

The breathing gets slower. It stops. There is now only a straight line on the heart monitor. He is dead.

When It’s Time To Say Goodbye was originally published in The Ascent on Medium, where people are continuing the conversation by highlighting and responding to this story.