The Business of Dying…the Good, the Bad, the Ugly and the Beautiful

I read somewhere at some point in time that when you are going to die, whether it be by illness, accident or old age you somehow have an innate sense it is coming. My personal belief about death is that we all have a place and time already set, beyond our control and nonnegotiable. Though this thought may insight panic and unrest in some, my intention is to insight Life and Living. In the almost two years since my Mom’s death I have come to view the last 9 months of her life as my platform for living for the rest of mine. When I wrote the article When your Stability Dies…Picking Up the Pieces I was on the other side of my deepest grief, the I want to die to see you again Mom, grief. The journey that took me beyond my deepest grief I have come to realize started that day in September when my Mom, literally the strongest person I know, looked at me and said “I think something is wrong with me Kim.” My Mom used my name often, but that Kim with all its connotations, that time is forever etched in a remote place in my mind not too close to hurt me anymore but not too far away either when I need to recall the feelings and feel them in order to get past a certain moment and move on. A lot has been written about the grieving process and thank goodness it is so. This prequel which was written after chronicles the experiences of my 4 insights into the Business of Dying: the Good, the Bad, the Ugly and the Beautiful. The wish is that my experiences lessen the load of the ones currently carrying it. I wish I had , had the strength to write this article first but now know as hindsight always provides 20/20 vision the prequel is sometimes the postscript.

This article is dedicated to everyone who has lost a piece of their Sunshine, especially my Dear Friends, Robyn, Stacey & Tania ♥

The Good—There is no closer relationship on earth that exists than between the living and the dying. During the time between diagnosis and the realization of impending death is a haze, a mist like no other. When a diagnosis is first handed down, as with the stages of grief there are stages of the fight. You and your loved one are now intertwined in a battle against disease. My Mom’s first diagnosis, though it turned out not to be so, was Ovarian Cancer. She had all the signs and symptoms when examined and until they went in to find the tumor and found none, they realized it had to be something else. I, sadly to say so, have had plenty of experience with 3 loved ones who died from Ovarian Cancer. It was a fight with my Mother I was all in for. Then time stood still for the next diagnosis. My Mom and I went to lunch the day we found out she did not have Ovarian Cancer. She was relieved and I could not share in that emotion with her as something, then undiagnosed was stealing her from me, minute by precious minute. We tried to have a “normal” afternoon and in the cereal isle at Costco she stopped me and said “why aren’t you glad I don’t have Ovarian Cancer, why are you pushing so hard, why can’t we just enjoy this?” A fury, sitting just inside my surface came out in decibels I am sure were heard all the way to the cash registers—THERE IS NO OTHER OUTCOME FOR ME!!! Then silence as no other elaboration was needed between Mother and Daughter. We embraced right there in that cereal isle and cried and didn’t stop until the tears did—we were both now engaged, together, in The Fight, no closer relationship. I sometimes look back and think of how we must have looked on security footage but can now smile at that image. My Mom was eventually diagnosed with End Stage Liver Disease, now The Fight had a name.

The Bad—When the child becomes the parent. The moment I found out what my Mom’s illness was I dove into the research. I read everything I could get my hands on-medical books, periodicals, countless emails back and forth between me and her doctor. It became my mission in life to be her advocate. You see my  Mom was asked to have a liver biopsy some 4 years earlier and she refused. At the time she didn’t feel it was necessary and with all my badgering I finally had to relent she was an adult and I could not have forced her to. This time there would be no relenting on my part, I would pull out all of my warrior inside and force her to take every test that was ordered. All except one that had been scheduled in her final days-yes, a liver biopsy. I already knew the result and out of some kind of I don’t even know, would not allow the word “Cancer” to be on her death certificate. She did not want to hear that 4 years earlier and I would not have it written on her final correspondence. When my Mom suffered her first bout (yes there were more) of  Hepatic encephalopathy, “deterioration of brain function that occurs because toxic substances normally removed by the liver build up in the blood and reach the brain.”, I knew then the roles were inexplicaby reversed for the duration of her days. Health insurance, Medicare, Rehabilitation facilities would become institutions I came to loathe. The Fight we were once in together now fell solely on my shoulders. I wanted to shake my Mom and say, but you are the Mother, I need you but that was the selfish little girl holding on to a time in history that would never come to pass again. My Mom was now solely fighting her own fight as only the dying can from within and alone.

The Ugly—The actual event of dying. Prior to bringing my Mom home to live out her final days, which was her only dying wish, I read everything I could get my hands on to help prepare myself for the physical act of dying. The signs to look out for to better equip me mentally with the most human of acts—The Final Act. Most of the dying we ordinary folks see is what is portrayed on TV or in movies. A person takes their last breath, turns their head and falls listless. What shows and the movies don’t show you is the days, hours and minutes leading up to the shut down of the human machine. I was privileged to bear witness to it all. My Mom came home on a Saturday, I fed her ice-cream one last time that night, gave her a final sip of the apple juice she had loved and that was the last she ever ate or drank. Sunday she was in a coma. The business of dying had begun. I witnessed most of the things I had read so diligently about. She talked to something or someone over her left shoulder and up in the ceiling. I wrote down all of her last words though I don’t even know to whom they were being spoken. On her final day my brother and I experienced a change in her breathing, I knew what it meant-she was in the active dying stage, my brother left. By some miracle there was a knock on my door and Mary, our Hospice nurse had just happened by. She examined my Mom and confirmed the sands through the hourglass were now pouring through. In her final moments I held her head in my lap and told her the lies we are told to tell~I will be ok Mom, you can go. I felt her heart beat for the last time, she opened her eyes and yes like the movies had a smile on her face. Now the ugly-when the heart stops and then the brain the fluid left in your lungs has no place to go but out. I held my Mom’s skin together with my hand as the Hospice Angels helped my Mom keep her dignity when the body shuts down. It is the most natural of things, yet NOTHING you are prepared for especially when it is your loved one. Not all deaths are the same and it depends on what you die from I have come to be informed, as I now inform you this is what the death from End Stage Liver Disease looks like. Not pretty.

The Beautiful—The Trailblazers to a parallel universe to where the woman who gave you life no longer exists. I wish with my whole heart and soul that nobody ever has to lose their Mother until at least a ripe old age of 100. Though as impractical as that may seem, wishes are free and that is mine. Unfortunately for those that have, they become for us that have not~The Beautiful.  The Beautiful have been there and what makes them The Beautiful is their willingness to hold your hand, wipe your tears and though they know it won’t be ok they tell you so anyway because they know your heart is breaking and your spirit is teetering on the edge. This one “white lie” they justify is kinder than any truths you will soon figure out for yourself. The Beautiful also comes in the form of Hospice Nurses, this form of Beautiful I don’t think I have the words to fully describe. People who willingly take on the job of assisting (see can’t think of a better word) souls to pass from this existence to the next. These Beautiful People who will always hold a special place in my heart should be revered, respected and welcomed with open arms. That is my advice for anyone carrying the load. The Beautiful can also include being able to be with your loved one in their final moment. My Mother held me when I came into the world, I held her as she went out. Against advice I held her hand all the way down my stairs and into the car that would take her away. There are no rules, I repeat none, when it comes to The Beautiful, find it everywhere you can during these times, in the end you will realize that is where your journey began. That is my final piece of advice.

But she wasn’t around, and that’s the thing when your parents die, you feel like instead of going in to every fight with backup, you are going into every fight alone.

—Mitch Albom

—Lisa Goich

Post Script: I am more than happy to answer any questions you may have about my story. I would love to hear your stories as well. Please leave them in the comments or contact me privately on my Ask Kim contact page. “No (wo)man is an Island.”

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Kimberly

Author; Blogger; Self-Proclaimed “Woman” of all trades and Self-Proclaimed “Master” of some! AFAA Certified Group Aerobics Instructor since 1998; MA Licensed Real Estate Agent since 1995; former Certified Financial Counselor and Passionate Advocator of Financial Education for Women. Tech Geek; Home Cook & Most Importantly, Mother of 3, my #1 Reason for Living!!!

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