I have to imagine that when you die you get to experience what it feels like to let go of all your pain, and I bet that feels pretty great.
My dad believed in “god” and died of melanoma after it got into his lymphatic system, then to his brain, and finally his spinal fluid.
My step mom recalled a conversation she had with him in the hospital after a 2nd brain surgery where she said she was angry with God and couldn’t believe he would allow this to happen to my dad instead of a worse person. He said something like “it’s fine that this happening to me, I’m already saved. Other people still need more time.”
I’ve never been a big fan of modern christianity since it strays so far from the fundamental teachings of love, but I always admired my dad’s ability to act in a way that aligned with his beliefs about the goodness life.
I really don’t care if there’s an “afterlife” or not. I just hope people can find something in this life that gives them the courage to fight for life but also eventually accept death.
The world is a fucked up place, we’re lucky that we can still find a way to enjoy it in whatever capacity we can.
I will irrationally choose to believe that your dad will find exactly what he’s looking for when he passes.
If you ever want to talk about anything I’m here for you in whatever capacity an internet stranger can be.
Thank you he already passed…the only thing and I think maybe I probably killed him is was he was on hospice and they gave us a shitton of drugs to comfort him. And one day he was asking for a percaset or whatever so I call my mom the other nurse in the family and ask what the hell should I do she says give him a half of one. This is because my dad came from a place where you did not go to the doctor or anything. Hell he once fractured his foot and would take one tylenol a day and that was good enough. But I gave him a whole percaset and figured if he is asking for it I am going to give it to him. He passed right the fuck out and then I don’t know if he was dreaming or hallucinating but the drug did not work. So I took the bottle of morphine and put a couple drops on his tongue. He died that night. When my mom and this is her story that when she told him that we will be fine and there is no shame in giving up the fight. He died five minutes later.
You didn’t kill him, the cancer did. You were there supporting him.
I was on morphine duty when my grandpa died two years ago and it was rough. I gained a massive respect for hospice workers and the mental fortitude they have in order to work in that environment.
My grandpa had ptsd nightmares from the Korean War his whole life and my biggest fear was that while he was dying he’d be trapped in one of those. I drove myself crazy trying to interpret his twitches and mumbles as some sort of actionable message he was sending.
I stepped outside for a bit and imagined what he would say if he were conscious, and I’m sure it would’ve been something like “Who cares if I’m having a nightmare? Even if I am it’s not your responsibility to fix it. I’ll just ride it out and it’ll be over.” And so I went back in and just sat there quietly, occasionally making remarks or observations, talking about what I might be doing in the next few weeks or months.
I’m really glad your mom got to have that moment. Whether or not he heard her and was responding, I hope the timing gave her some peace.
After my dad died. For about a year I truly thought my mom killed my dad to make him comfortable with drugs. But after I became a nurse we got over it. Still to this day I think to myself even if she did overdose him what strength that would take. They were married for 30 years. I had tremendous respect for her. Now when I see a person where death is coming I sometimes thinking about asking them if they want a drink or joint or get high but never have just the thought is there to let them have the opition to go out peacefully.
I have to imagine that when you die you get to experience what it feels like to let go of all your pain, and I bet that feels pretty great.
My dad believed in “god” and died of melanoma after it got into his lymphatic system, then to his brain, and finally his spinal fluid.
My step mom recalled a conversation she had with him in the hospital after a 2nd brain surgery where she said she was angry with God and couldn’t believe he would allow this to happen to my dad instead of a worse person. He said something like “it’s fine that this happening to me, I’m already saved. Other people still need more time.”
I’ve never been a big fan of modern christianity since it strays so far from the fundamental teachings of love, but I always admired my dad’s ability to act in a way that aligned with his beliefs about the goodness life.
I really don’t care if there’s an “afterlife” or not. I just hope people can find something in this life that gives them the courage to fight for life but also eventually accept death.
The world is a fucked up place, we’re lucky that we can still find a way to enjoy it in whatever capacity we can.
I will irrationally choose to believe that your dad will find exactly what he’s looking for when he passes.
If you ever want to talk about anything I’m here for you in whatever capacity an internet stranger can be.
Thank you he already passed…the only thing and I think maybe I probably killed him is was he was on hospice and they gave us a shitton of drugs to comfort him. And one day he was asking for a percaset or whatever so I call my mom the other nurse in the family and ask what the hell should I do she says give him a half of one. This is because my dad came from a place where you did not go to the doctor or anything. Hell he once fractured his foot and would take one tylenol a day and that was good enough. But I gave him a whole percaset and figured if he is asking for it I am going to give it to him. He passed right the fuck out and then I don’t know if he was dreaming or hallucinating but the drug did not work. So I took the bottle of morphine and put a couple drops on his tongue. He died that night. When my mom and this is her story that when she told him that we will be fine and there is no shame in giving up the fight. He died five minutes later.
You didn’t kill him, the cancer did. You were there supporting him.
I was on morphine duty when my grandpa died two years ago and it was rough. I gained a massive respect for hospice workers and the mental fortitude they have in order to work in that environment.
My grandpa had ptsd nightmares from the Korean War his whole life and my biggest fear was that while he was dying he’d be trapped in one of those. I drove myself crazy trying to interpret his twitches and mumbles as some sort of actionable message he was sending.
I stepped outside for a bit and imagined what he would say if he were conscious, and I’m sure it would’ve been something like “Who cares if I’m having a nightmare? Even if I am it’s not your responsibility to fix it. I’ll just ride it out and it’ll be over.” And so I went back in and just sat there quietly, occasionally making remarks or observations, talking about what I might be doing in the next few weeks or months.
I’m really glad your mom got to have that moment. Whether or not he heard her and was responding, I hope the timing gave her some peace.
After my dad died. For about a year I truly thought my mom killed my dad to make him comfortable with drugs. But after I became a nurse we got over it. Still to this day I think to myself even if she did overdose him what strength that would take. They were married for 30 years. I had tremendous respect for her. Now when I see a person where death is coming I sometimes thinking about asking them if they want a drink or joint or get high but never have just the thought is there to let them have the opition to go out peacefully.