I have written about deaths that linger.
What about a loved one who dies quickly, like a flash of lightning? Is that different?
I don’t mean sudden, traumatic deaths such as fatal accidents, natural disasters, or from bullets in war zones or city streets (like the recent Kansas City shooting). What about the 30% of deaths in hospice that occur within seven days? And within those national averages, some are in hospice for barely 24 hours. Being with a hospice for a week or less is unsettling. But when the care—and the death—all occur before the next day’s sunset, the unsettledness can become a hurricane of raw emotions, abrupt decisions, and instant regrets.
Hospice professionals know that when a loved one dies that quickly, most of the staff assigned to the patient and family won’t meet them. No one, other than nurses scrambling to manage the most urgent needs, had time to physically be with the patient who went from dying to dead in a handful of hours. A few days later, a chaplain or social worker will call to offer condolences . . . but she or he seems a stranger. More hospice staff will support you during your time of grief, but (again) they will often be voices on a phone or letters in the mail.
Hospice professionals also know that many sudden deaths can be explained because of the inevitable, cruel progression of particular illnesses.
But some can’t be explained.
I’ve heard of a patient eating her usual breakfast of oatmeal and buttered toast in the morning, and then dying before lunch. Sure, she had cancer or a weak heart, but she was a “survivor.” Or the granddad that walked to the local diner for lunch with his retired army buddies every Tuesday for decades. One week, he’s ordering ham and cheese on rye with extra mustard . . . and the next week his family was planning a funeral.
I remember talking to a man who received a call from his eldest brother. Of course, it was late at night. Of course, it was after a weary day of work with more of the same tomorrow. But after the brother’s call there was only one thing on his calendar: returning home to be with his father.
According to his brother, the doctors said their father would die in two weeks.
One late night phone call and the whole world shifted.
The son talked in hushed tones as I listened to him on my west coast phone, several weeks after the death. He was in his office on the east coast.
His father had been fine and chatty when this son did his usual Sunday morning call. His father had been fine when the family gathered to celebrate his seventy-something birthday two months before. He’d danced a jig with his youngest granddaughter at the birthday bash and had second helpings of ice cream. His father was also fine last Thanksgiving, even though he fell asleep at the table when his middle son—the rabbi—prayed a prayer of gratitude that everybody joked was too long anyway. All of these recent memories tumbled out of the son as he recalled when he father was . . . just fine.
After the late-night call, the son organized the flights necessary to get him across the country as quickly as he could. Death was quicker. His father died while the son was 25,000 feet over the Rocky Mountains. The doctors’ “less than two weeks” had been reduced to hours.
The son was a successful professional. As best as I could tell his father was proud of him and of his accomplishments. The son, even with his busy schedule, had always made the weekly calls and had taken red-eye flights to every family function over the years.
He told me he was tormented by his father’s death. Why hadn’t be been with his dad in the last moments? Why hadn’t he anticipated what was happening?
I think talking helped him. I think he knew he was being too hard on himself. He reassured me he had good support from his wife and kids and colleagues. Still, that word lingered: tormented.
There is simply no explaining some deaths that are literally breathtakingly quick.
My family experienced that last week. My brother-in-law, a few years younger than me, went to work in the morning. He would die in the hospital shortly after returning home from his job. The causes of death were soon shared with my sister, his wife. But, still, the why and how-can-this-be questions outnumber any medical reasons.
Following a quick death, I’ve spoken with spouses and children and friends have honestly said they felt relief. Who wants a loved one to suffer? But in the next sentence many have also expressed guilt over saying they were relieved. How can they have both—and conflicting—feelings? But how can they not have those unsettled, contradictory reactions?
Even a quick death that ends suffering, and that may eventually be explained by doctors, and rationally understood by the surviving friends and family, will still cause:
Regrets
Torment
Unsettledness
Second-guessing
What comfort can be said to those who have experienced a “quick death” and now have a churning of feelings that are never quickly over?
Nothing.
Except to keep talking with others who love you. How simple that sounds. It’s never simple, though.
It requires work. It requires admitting to some of the vulnerable emotions that most prefer to mask or bury. It requires spending time with feelings that make us feel out of control. It requires accepting that some questions that must be asked won’t have any answers.
The son I talked with on the other side of the country will have moments in the future where he remembers the jolt and jangle of a midnight call. He will recall the helpless torment he felt by arriving “too late.” But I believe if he continues sharing and reminiscing about his father dozing at a brother’s prayer or his dad cheering him when he got his diploma, those terrible feelings about a quick death will recede as treasured memories heal some of his soul.
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Photo by Sean McAuliffe on Unsplash
My book, A Companion for the Hospice Journey is available at Amazon.
Thank you for this, Larry.
I had a grandmother who suffered from ALS. We just didn't know it was ALS. Upon receiving the diagnosis, it was as if she decided she was done trying to live. Three days after her diagnosis, it was moments into the first visit from a hospice nurse when she the nurse called grandpa in to be with grandma. It was time. Grandma was dying.
This story is a bit different from what you shared here, though. I can only speak for myself, I suppose, but I was ready for grandma's "quick" death. I think most of us were, and I know grandma does. Just the day before she'd pointed at my mother's "Life is Good" t-shirt and gave a "thumbs-up." Her life was, indeed, good. She died in gratitude. Quick, but ready.
Thanks you for sharing this, Larry. I am a hospice grief counselor and I have spoken to many families who lost a loved one very quickly. It is definitely a very different experience.