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.
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.