62
votes
My dad is dying soon
Title says it all. I'm only in my late 20s and I've been his primary care taker for most of my adult life. There isn't any other person I've spent more time with in my entire life. I'm trying to prepare myself for when the moment he's gone and I know it's going crush me all the same.
This will be my greatest loss in life so far. I know everyone goes through something like this. What did you do when a moment like this came? What did you do when it felt like you couldn't get up? I have know idea how I'm going to get through this, I just have to believe I will.
EDIT: Thank you for all your kind words and we'll wishes. My dad passed away September 23, 3:30 PM local time with his boys by his side. I'll love him and miss him every single day.
I don't know if this will help, but this is my experience with extreme grief:
It feels like you are drowning. It feels like you are going to die. It feels like you cannot survive the emotion you are going through, and you don't necessarily even want to. But you do survive it. It does get better.
However, it does not get better the way you expect. The grief itself does not become gentler, at least not for a very long time. Instead, you get brief moments of respite — where it's almost like your forget about your loss (and, indeed, you are apt to do strange things during these moments, like try to call your lost loved one to pass on the news they they have died) — and as time goes on, these periods become longer and the periods of severe grief become shorter.
Eventually you reach a point where you forget that you are still mourning. But then, out of nowhere, the grief hits you again like a freight train, just as painful and seemingly impossible to survive as Day 1. And then it passes and you can keep living again.
For me, at least, it takes a long time to meld these two emotional states into one steady state, where I can simultaneously remember my loss and also not be completely overcome by it. But when I do reach that point, I can finally begin living like normal again. When I'm in the throes of grief, it is impossible to imagine that I will ever get there — but having gone through this process several times now, I know it intellectually, even if I can't quite grasp it emotionally.
My first experience with grief occurred when I was very young, before I really understood the concept of my own death and before I had any options to numb my pain (like alcohol), and I think that was actually a blessing. It meant I had no choice but to become fully immersed in misery, take it moment by moment, and eventually come out the other side. I know that I can survive it now because I have survived it before, and that knowledge stops me from doing something regretful.
If this will be your first time with grief, please know that you can get through it with full sobriety. However it may feel like it, you are not irreparably broken. Thousands and thousands of your ancestors have gone through this process. It just takes time to heal and recalibrate. Give yourself that time, and trust the process really is a process, not the end state.
Edit: I just want to add one more thing.
Don't be shocked or be hard on yourself if you do not go through the grief you are expecting. It's a real possibility, and it does not mean that you do not love your father.
I loved my grandfather very much; he protected me and sheltered me at a very dark moment in my childhood, and we always had a special connection to one another after that. I was at his bedside when he died, and I did not feel the wall of inescapable grief that I was expecting. What I felt, instead, was unexpected relief.
I did feel sad, of course, because I missed him very much, but it was a normal sort of sadness—the kind I could indulge, almost even savor in a sense, without wondering how I could go on. I cried, but it felt good; it felt like I was finally letting something out that I couldn't let go until he passed.
I think I had already gone through the grief process during his long battle with cancer. The only real pain that lingered with me was knowing that he should have been allowed to end things sooner on his own terms, before it got as bad as it did.
To add to this wonderful post: you probably will feel guilty when you catch yourself laughing or having fun while in grief. It's normal.
I'm not going to say don't feel guilty, because you will, but it's ok.
Lost my brother abruptly six months ago. It's hard.
I am so, so sorry to hear about your brother.
I lost mine when I was 8, after he'd undergone a long illness, which was probably easier than it would have been losing him suddenly as an adult. I didn't completely grasp what it meant to lose him (after he died and we were viewing his body, I asked my parents if this meant we could finally bring him home from the hospital), and it was a gradual realization that I would never see him again. In a major way, I think that softened the blow.
But I do know that I grieved very hard just the same. I remember throwing the most horrendous temper tantrums, while my parents tried to comfort me and help me understand why I couldn't see him anymore.
And then I remember feeling horrible the first time I realized I had gone all day without thinking about him; the first time I realized that I couldn't remember his birthday anymore; the first time I couldn't remember how old he was when he died; and, worst of all, the day I realized how selfish I had been in my grief that I did not spare a thought for my parents at all (even though their grief was undoubtedly far worse than my own) and had never thought to be there for them like they had been for me. It was a tough time filled with a lot of self-hatred, almost a second period of grief in and of itself, which I only came to terms with many years later.
I don't think there is any correct way to grieve. It is a biological process, with all the mess and strangeness that entails. An unconscious part of your brain takes control, and there is nothing you can do but subject yourself to it. There is nothing to gain from trying to read meaning into it. It will never make any sense.
I’m in my early 30s and currently on my 3rd and 4th experience. Best friend at 19, dad at 28, another best friend last month, and my mom just got diagnosed terminal lung cancer. it never gets easier, but that’s kind of the point. It hurts because it meant something. It would be much more concerning if it didn’t hurt. Not everyone gets to experience the full range of emotions. For instance, my best friend at 19 died before his parents and anyone else he knew. Was he lucky or am I the lucky one? I try to remind myself that I am lucky enough to have had as much time as I did with each person and I am fortunate to feel strongly about losing them.
I'm so sorry to hear about your upcoming loss. Condolences and best wishes.
I can't speak to psychological coping strategies, but learning a little bit about grief as a common human experience and process might help you prepare and might help you recognize what is happening when it effects you.
Grief takes a long time and for major grief like loss of a loved parent, you come out the other side changed as a person (based on my own experience and most accounts I have read)
Grief will absolutely interfere with the ability to think clearly and plan effectively for a while. If you don't have a solid support network to bring you food, consider preparing and freezing one serving meals ahead of time so that all you have to do is thaw and heat to have a healthy meal. Even when grief feels like it will destroy you, it won't. But it is a form of suffering.
There are books on grief. I found the Book of Joy to be helpful, but your mileage may vary.
I lost my father at 19. It still hurts (a little) today in my 40s.
The best guidance I can offer is let your self grieve in whatever way it’s showing up for you. It may not always be like you expect and that’s okay.
Your pain will ease over time and I am glad you get to be the one who gets to comfort him, i can only hope I’m as lucky as he is.
If you ever want to talk to someone you don’t have to apologize too, feel free to reach out!
Edits: clarity
You have my sympathy, and my empathy.
I was an only child of a single mother. It was just the two of us for most of my childhood, except for a short time when we lived with her sister's family. She died very quickly from an aggressive cancer when I was 20. She got a cough in November and was dead before July.
It just about broke me. Honestly, it actually did break me for a good while. I drank too much, smoked too much weed, pissed money and time away like it wasn't worth a damn. It took me a long time to get to a point where I felt truly back on my feet. But I got there, and if I can, you probably can too.
I don't have advice for you. Advice is bullshit about 90% of the time anyway. All I can tell you is that it's probably going to suck for a while, and I'm sorry.
When I die
Give what’s left of me away
To children
And old men that wait to die.
And if you need to cry,
Cry for your brother
Walking the street beside you.
And when you need me,
Put your arms
Around anyone
And give them
What you need to give to me.
I want to leave you something,
Something better
Than words
Or Sounds.
Look for me
In the people I’ve known
Or loved,
And if you cannot give me away,
At least let me live on your eyes
And not on your mind.
You can love me most
By letting hands touch hands,
By letting
Bodies touch bodies,
And by letting go
Of children
That need to be free.
Love doesn’t die,
People do.
So, when all that’s left of me
Is love,
Give me away.
Epitaph by Merrit Malloy
[My son Charlie died ten years ago]
I just lost my dad last month. The circumstances of his death are very different from yours (genuinely sudden, yet honestly somehow one of the most "peaceful" ways to go), so I can't fully relate. One thing I can say, for a fact now, is that grief is different for everyone.
You know how people say "we'll take things day by day"? Well, my mom instead said we'd take it hour by hour. With your post, brief as it is, I think you might fall into the hour category. The first days and hours will be the hardest, and even as time passes you'll find yourself set off by unexpected and small things. I had no problems going through his laptop for photos for the service, but got all choked up grabbing the cup he used for his dentures. (On that note, you might want to choose photos now if you're in charge of arrangements. The good thing about knowing his death is approaching is that you can set up some things now instead of while in the middle of grief.)
Also, if you have other people in your life, lean on them for support. There's a chance you'll actually start to get annoyed with how much they'll be reaching out to check on you. Losing someone is a sad time, but it can also remind you of the good in humanity with all the ways people reach out. You might also get a bunch of potted plants from friends and family like we did, so watering those might give you a practical reason to get out of bed.
The other thing I want to say though: the world will go on. Maybe that sounds cruel, but it was kind of sobering to see people living their lives normally while we were grabbing lunch and flowers while making arrangements the day after he died. Seeing the news helped ground me a bit, remind me that just because dad was gone and my life is currently on "pause", doesn't mean everything else is.
Every day, people die. Nearly every human has experienced some degree of loss, some far more devastating than others. And many of those people have managed to be okay and resume their regular lives. Chances are you've met people who at one point lost everything, but you wouldn't know. Humans are resilient like that: we can feel like the world is ending, but instead it can turn into the start of a new chapter in our lives.
Even the most devastating moments will someday be nothing but a bad memory. Memories can have a heavy impact on your life, but with time, they won't be quite as raw. With time, you can focus more on the happy and good ones more than the bad.
Some day, this period of grief will be nothing but an awful memory. You just have to take it hour by hour until then.
One other piece of advice: look into grief counseling and support groups in your area. I feel like there should be some for caretakers in particular. Being able to just talk about it with people who are going through or have been through the same thing as you can really help, just for the sense that you're not alone in it.
I was my mom's primary caretaker for years before she died. She died at our shared home, in bed, during Covid times. The end was not pretty, despite our best efforts. I had to administer the final dose of pain medicine myself, with the hospice nurse of the phone being hysterical.
I tell you this, because my experience has been that death cannot really be controlled, and as much as I hope your father's passing is peaceful, please do not blame yourself if it isn't.
Being the primary caretaker of my mom was the hardest thing I ever did. It is extremely unpopular to say, but being her caretaker probably triggered my autoimmune disease and definitely contributed to its severity. I went for years being on call 24 hours a day, getting maybe 4 hours sleep at a time. She was a unique soul--basically a 14 year old her whole life who preferred to live in her fantasies instead of reality. I am a dedicated realist, and at the beginning I had a lot of resentments toward her because she was never really a mom and never really saw me for who I was.. By the end I felt we had a relationship of mutual acceptance and appreciation and love. This would never have happened without me being her caretaker.
After she died I felt like my own ties to this world had unraveled. My mother held my past, She could verify that yes, I taught myself to read at 4 years old, yes, my hair was black when I was born but then turned blonde. Little things but now only residing in my memory, somehow diminished. I felt deeply the loss of purpose--even though I had become too sick myself to work, I was critical to my mother's survival. I had learned to take care of her despite my own pain or fatigue or illness. I had a reason to get up, to keep going. After she died I felt I was stumbling in the dark, that gravity could not hold me and I was in danger of floating into nothingness. As it was Covid times, ther was no funeral, just me picking up her ashes and sorting through her stuff.
I believe that your position as his caretaker may bring you more suffering in the short run, after he passes. In the long run, however, you will have the gift of the part of him that still lives in you, which is stronger because of the bonds you forged together. You will not have to wonder if you did enough. If anything, I would encourage you to ask the questions now, to have the conversations you might wish you had had.
The first year was a blur. I was lucky to have a very supportive partner. I have pets (and my mother's cat) who needed me to keep going. You will find your way, too. Be very kind to yourself, be patient. Cry when you feel like it, it may take a while. Allow yourself to feel angry, it will also pass. Treat yourself with the love your father would want you to have, I don't believe that love ever leaves us, even when the person is gone. You will never stop feeling the loss but it will not swallow you.
(On a more practical note, you probably have already, but make sure that if you are the executor you have all of the legal documents in order ahead of time. And it really helps if he adds your name to his bank account. I was dealing with odd financial things, like refunds for over-payment from the hospital three years later.)
Also, it may help to have something of his that you can keep going--in my case I care for her cat, feed her birds and hummingbirds and a rose she was very fond of. It helps me connect on a daily basis and I know it would make her happy. Or maybe there's something your dad wanted to do that you could do for him? Like visit some faraway place, or see the ocean, or learn a musical instrument?
This is just my experience, but maybe it can help you in some way.
I lost my father 2 years ago. I'm in my 40's and it was tough. My father had a TIA (similar to a stroke, but not quite). That moment just reinforced my father's mortality and I flew out to help in any way I could for a week. I did yard work, I painted, I did anything I could regarding things he needed done at his house. I also did another very important thing. I referred to it as "no regrets". My father and I didn't get along until my 30's and I really wanted to forgive him for our tensions and lack of connection we had growing up. So, I talked to him and told him I forgave him and that he was a good dad. I knew his dad was tough on him and he did the best he could. And he reacted positively to it. We never talked emotionally our entire lives, and it was awkward and weird. But it really let me "let go" of things I held against him.
2 years later, he was diagnosed with cancer suddenly and everything was treatable. But then it wasn't. I had just gotten engaged around the diagnosis and was planning to marry 12 months from then. We ended up moving the wedding to 3 months from the proposal and my father passed 2 weeks after the wedding.
The take-away I hope to give you is the "no regrets". Talk about everything. Ask him anything. Talk to him. And if you can't talk, just be there. Be present. This really helped me process everything later. And even writing this whole story was hard to re-live it. But I learned that the best thing you can do is connect. Regret nothing. And enjoy being with them in the way you best can. I have no regrets and I feel like we talked about everything we needed to. Of course there are things I wish I could ask him now, but I at least know that I talked about the tough stuff and know that he knew our relationship and that I loved him before he passed.
I haven’t lost my parents yet, but I just wanted to comment to send you condolences, for whatever it’s worth given I’m an internet stranger. I honestly haven’t thought about what I’d do when they do.
I’m really sorry mate. Hopefully y’all are enjoying your time together.
Does he have a hospice/palliative care setup in place?
We're moving him to hospice today. He's not in any pain right now which I'm so grateful for.
Palliative care was the only bit of mercy that was afforded my father as he passed, and I have tremendous gratitude to the folks that provided that care.
For a long time, I clung to that gratitude as the only bright piece in that awful process, but now that a few years have passed, I look at everything that led to that point and have come to the realization that the way we handle health is fucked. Palliative care is a Band-Aid and a kiss on the knee after a savage beating.
It's a great start, but it's not sufficient. We've got to get serious about turning the medical industry back into health care.
Yeah, my mom battled leukemia. I'm grateful for the time we got, but near the, after the last treatment failed, and they were in NYC trying to arrange a flight back to Austin, since of the hospital folks were really something else. First the didn't want to release her from the hospital, then they didn't want to let a private ambulance pick her up. They didn't want to give us the paperwork to fly commercial, then they didn't want to give us the paperwork for the private medical flight we arranged.
We had to call lawyers to get her home. She lasted another month back home, we got to have a final Thanksgiving and she got to see her only grand daughter take her first steps.
This happened almost a decade ago and I still get mad at how hard the hospital made it.
When my mom died, I was destroyed. I cried so loud that they closed the door to the room at the hospital. It took me years to get over the grief. It still makes me sad, but I am ok. I hold my hand over my heart, thank her for the love that she gave me and go on everyday. You’ll get there, there’s no timeline. Just keep getting up everyday, look for the small things that make you happy and keep walking forward. You will never be alone, he will always be walking by your side.
I haven't been there yet, its not quite what you asked but something I've seen suggested elsewhere before he passes if you can get a voice recording of him to playback anytime you need. I can sort of recall my grandparents voices, but having a recording would've been nice.
I'm so sorry OP. I don't have a ton of advice for how to prepare. But I want to strongly caution you: once this happens, don't push your emotions away, no matter how awful they feel. This is what I did, and it really impacted me negatively. Over time, I just started suppressing pretty much all strong emotions on instinct, including happiness, joy, etc. It has been a long battle to correct this so that I can try and feel things again.
The feelings will be terrible, but they will pass. Allow yourself to feel them and to grieve. If you find it is too much, seek help or the comfort of people you care about. Remember that as bad as it hurts, it will pass.
Celebrate the love you have for your father, and enjoy the moments together while he is still with you. Once he has passed, you can continue to celebrate that love. Tell him the things you want to tell him now, which I'm sure you have already done. Consider offering forgiveness while you have the opportunity, if there are such situations where it is relevant; this is a great gift you can give someone. I'm sorry for your situation, and I wish peace to your family in this time.
I'm so sorry to hear. I lost my dad a couple years ago. I was devastated. Everything felt meaningless and I found no motivation to do anything. The amount of stress was enormous.
I started to think about him, my health, and what he'd want for me. It was thinking of him not wanting me to put my own health in jeopardy that got me up. I also had the responsibility of taking care of my dog that helped me continue to find meaning. It helped more than anything.
People say it gets easier but not in the way you think. You'll be fine one minute then crying the next. I've done so multiple times just typing this. You might have stretches of days or weeks where you're fine then all fo a sudden it hits.
It's going to suck and may not hurt less as time goes on. Best thing for you to do is to take it a day at a time at the pace you're comfortable with. Let it out, feel what you feel, and try to recover to keep moving. Also surround yourself with friends, family, SOs, anyone - It'll help break up the down moments.
My dad died in March. He'd was in his late 60s and had prostate cancer, but it had been in remission for a good while. Then quite suddenly he started having problems. He kept falling over, he paled and he had diarrhea. At the hospital they eventually figured out that the cancer metastasized and gotten to his liver. Because of the failing liver, from what I understand, the treatment he'd need would have killed him.
I was visiting him at the hospital when a doctor broke the news that there was no fixing him, and I vividly remember him slowly searching for an email from a doctor he thought had suggested a new treatment alternative. His skin had yellowed. He remained hopeful, maybe desperate but not quite wanting to show it. I was not, and that difference was absolutely heart wrenching. I kind of regret not comforting him in that moment, but I thought that might unbalance that hope he had. I cried when I got home. To me, all hope for a cure was lost then, so I'd spend my time making the best of what we had while he was still here.
From then it took maybe two weeks before he was gone. He was getting increasingly confused, his skin yellowed further and he got thinner, but he was somewhat present with us until the end, joking around and instructing us in what he wanted us to do with the stuff he'd leave us. Even on the last day he was playing jokes, but we all realized that this was probably his last night, so we stayed. He fell asleep and died shortly after while we were there. The difference between sleeping quietly and being dead is day and night; he was there and then after a minute of subtle struggling he was so obviously not there.
I cried profusely. The day after, we dealt with practical matters, but the day after that I just couldn't. Then I got back onto it and helped my brothers and my dad's wife with the funeral arrangements. The funeral and our reception afterwards was great. He had so many friends. Again, I cried my eyes out as the psalms were playing.
After the funeral I felt somewhat relieved, that I'd gotten a lot of the grief and pain out of the system. I tear up every now and then when I come to think of him, and I miss him, but the grief is not at as present. I was mostly functioning normally in a matter of days. People deal with this in different ways, of course, and compared to you we didn't have a very close relationship. I visited him maybe every quarter of a year, and while he was usually jovial and friendly, he was kind of emotionally reserved in any other sense, but in a way that I think we all understood and respected.
Mark Bittner related a comforting Zen Buddhist metaphor in the film The Wild Parrots of Telegraph Hill that has stuck with me. Paraphrased: a river turns into individual droplets as they fall off a cliff in a waterfall for a brief moment. When they meet the surface below they don't lose anything, but gain the river.
I’ve had similar experiences and what helps me is my approach to ones passing . There are so many examples where life is non existent without death. A seed had to die before it could bring forth fruit, an animal had to die to give life to others, an insect had to die to bring forth the fruit of a mushroom which provides anti-inflammatory and antioxidant effects (. Cordyceps) In my mind, death is an extension of life. We all must close our eyes and open them up to a new life that the death created. It’s also the reason I choose to say someone passes away. Death isn’t finite. You will soon see your loved one. It sucks that it seems like they missed out on a lot but in due time you will see they have always been by your side and infinity is a long time to catch up with anyone.
A really good read that has help me is Rebecca Springers book titled Intra Muros. Written by Rebecca in 1898. It’s Rebecca first hand account of passing away while very sick and what she saw and experienced.