I think one day Mom just won’t wake up. Death is coming. I think it is still years away, but that’s how I think it will happen. She has absolutely nothing wrong physically, and I don’t see that changing, so that is how I predict it will happen. 

Pop, on the other hand, was just a little bit different. Here’s how it went down with a man who had multiple cancers, heart disease, and an absolutely clear and brilliant mind. I’m betting this will ring true for many of you, too.

The Last Ten Days Before Death

It was a Friday in September, and the house was quiet and calm when I left for school. Everybody was snug in their beds, things were unremarkable that day. I was happy it was Friday—pizza day starting the weekend—and had nothing on my mind.

Day 10:

I came home on time around 3:30, and after I put my things down, I went into my parents’ den to say hello. As soon as I entered the room, Pop told Mom to mute the television. “I’m done, Pat” he said. I stopped walking and said “okay?”. He continued: “No more doctors, Pat. No more treatments and no more medicine. I’m just done.”. This time when I said “Okay” there was no question mark at the end. The fight, the relentless, never-ending decade of struggle was just over. I walked out of the room, went to my room, and ordered the pizza.

After we ate pizza and the kids left the table, we stayed there. The four of us: Me, Sweet Husband, Pop and Mom. I questioned him about what he meant exactly, and, quite simply, he was done. I knew this day would eventually come, but I really envisioned it in the hospital with tubes sticking out of him and Mom crying in a corner. Not in the kitchen over pizza.

No tears. No arguments. It was his choice to make, and he made it.

Day 9:

I called Hospice in the morning, and they came to evaluate him mid-afternoon. They were a little confused why we had called them, because he was so strong even then, and they weren’t sure they could take his case at that point. He wasn’t close enough to death. After reviewing his records, they opened his file not because of the active cancer, but due to the heart disease that didn’t give Pop one minute’s trouble ever. They promised bi-weekly visits from the nurse, and on-call assistance 24/7.

Even though they didn’t think there was much they could do, they sent an army of people to evaluate my house, Pop’s needs and determine a care plan moving forward. They told me Pop was nowhere near dying, and this will be a long process. 

Pop was given palliative medications, and never took another one of his prescription pills from regular doctors. 

Days 9 – 6:

With the only change being that Pop wasn’t taking his medications, there wasn’t a huge change the first few days. I actually went to work. Pop was sleeping more than before, and his appetite wasn’t what it used to be, but he was still moving around on his own, feeding and dressing himself, and participating in conversations at the dinner table. Didn’t really seem like death was coming.

I could almost convince myself nothing was changing. Almost.

Day 5 – 3:

In a very odd and funny occurrence, Pop stopped drinking anything but beer. With Sweet Husband in the house, it was handy, but Pop had never been a drinker. He was the designated driver his entire life. Now he wanted beer. A very specific brand and type. So that is what he drank. 

At this point, Pop was not even getting dressed during the day, staying in his bathrobe. He was sleeping more and more—in bed instead of in the den—and was much less communicative than he had been at the beginning of Hospice care. 

No doubt about it. He was slowing down—inside and out. 

Day 2:

One week from the day Pop told me it was over, the Hospice nurse did his bi-weekly visit. After he visited with Pop, who was strictly in bed at this point, he and I had a meeting in the kitchen. I was crystal clear with him that the decline was steep and real, and I wanted to know what was next. “He’s not ‘actively dying’ yet, Patti. We’re looking at some time before he reaches that point still” is what he told me. 

We ordered pizza again. It was Friday. Nothing messes with my parent’s routine—I learned that as a child. I brought Pop a slice of pizza, and sat at the foot of the bed. From a prone position, he sat himself up unaided, and leaned forward until our faces were but inches apart. “It’s close now, Pat. I can feel it” he told me.

“Just go when you’re ready, Poppy. I’ll take care of Mommy. You know I will” I replied. 

He smiled and touched my cheek. He then, quite wearily, laid back down in his bed.

Those were the last words my father spoke to me.

Day 1:

I sat vigil on this day. Meals were brought to me, as were books and messages and unlimited coffee. 

Pop didn’t move. Pop didn’t speak. 

I did, though; I poured out from my soul like a watering can on a dry flower. I went through everything I had promised him, everything he taught me, everything I could think of to tell him.

The minutes dragged but the day flew, as person after person came to the door to check on Pop. Everyone left in tears.

I just sat there. 

Day 0:

I was in my usual spot in my parents bedroom. This day I was quiet—I don’t know why. It was just a quiet kind of day.

I knew it the second he stopped breathing. Calmly, I stood up, went to his side, and said my own goodbye. 

Then I allowed myself to fall into my grief. I fell to my knees and screamed.

What I Learned That Can Help You

In retrospect, a lot happened in those ten days. It is really quite stunning how perfectly Pop choreographed his death. It was exactly the way he and I had talked about, from the refusal to take more meds to calming slipping into death in his own bed. He was an incredibly powerful man, and he used the last of his power to make his ending as seamless as possible for me. 

I learned a lot in those ten days about myself, about love, about death. From the caregiver perspective, I share the most important ones for you here, so you can make sure the end is meaningful and smooth for your loved one:

Trust your loved one to know when it’s almost time

Pop didn’t give one damn about “actively dying”. He knew when it was imminent, and wanted to transition to death in his own way. If your loved one feels strongly about something at that point, just believe them. It will give them tremendous peace for you to be on their side.

Call everyone home. Let them decide

The night Pop told me he was done, I remained alone in my thoughts, speaking only to Sweet Husband. Early the next morning, I called all of my siblings and let them know what was happening. Some of them didn’t think anything of it—just me being a hysteric I guess—but some of them hung up the phone and jumped on the internet for airline tickets. Big Brother Bob was driving to my house from the airport when Pop took his last breath. I really think he just didn’t want Bob to see him suffering like that. 

Leave nothing unsaid

This can be a really tough one, because you can’t precisely know when they will leave this Earth. I’m glad I just let myself talk while Pop was resting peacefully. We had talked about everything so many times, there wasn’t anything left undone or unsaid in our relationship. Start talking now, is my advice, so when the end is imminent, you won’t be rushing to get closure or clarity when you should be transitioning with them. 

Give them permission

This is very popular advice from all over the internet, and even from Hospice. They told me to make sure I let Pop know it is okay for him to leave, so that he wouldn’t force himself to be tethered to this world. Since I watched Pop choose the time, place and pacing of his death, I agree 100% with this advice. Tell your loved one, literally and specifically, that you will be okay and they can go. Don’t let your own grief and feelings keep them in limbo and pain.

Bear witness

I felt, instinctively, that I needed to stay with Pop as the end drew near. Nobody else was in the room. It was quiet and peaceful, with me infrequently breaking the silence with words of love and acceptance. If it is at all possible, be there. Bear witness to the end just as they bore witness to your beginning. Stay to the end to ease their transition from this world. Say goodbye.

My Story Is Your Story

What we went through at the end of Pop’s life is really a very common scenario—even though to us it feels extremely personal. Hopefully, walking those last ten days with me can give you some hope for your own future, some ideas for what to do and who to call as the clock winds down, or at least let you know you aren’t alone. 

As that part of The Job ended for me that day in 2016, I felt strong and powerful even in my deep grief and pain. I did everything I promised Pop I would do. And when he was done, I respected his decision. We were a team until the very end.

You should be proud of yourself, too. 

Maybe someday, when you finish crying.

THANK YOU FOR READING THIS FAR!!!

Wow! You made it! Thank you for reading about when death is coming!

Hey, since you’re here! You may as well check out part 1 of my Mother-In-Law story, here, or if you’ve read that, check out part 2, here! Or, check out our other topics here! Either way, I appreciate you!

Please leave a COMMENT about any tips you may have!! Or comment with YOUR story! Any dementia stories? Let me know!

Please, feel free to contact me or leave a COMMENT with anything you would like to hear more about! Or reach out with any unrelated questions, comments, concerns, or random outbursts of excitement by clicking here.