We prepare ourselves for everything, but most of us are in denial about death. Aparna Das shares the one final lesson her father taught her during his last few days as he breathed his last.
My father was diagnosed with Pancreatic Cancer in October 2017. Of course, he and all of us did everything in our capacity to save him. But he passed away on the 20th of April 2018. The three days leading to his death were probably the most painful that our family had faced collectively. But I have a compelling need to write about something I learnt in those terrible days.
Time heals, and painful memories are pushed to the recesses of the mind, because we need to survive. Hopefully the memories will fade, but this needs to be shared before my brain pushes it to a place where our experience will not help others.
Papa was not ready to give up
From the moment he was admitted into the hospital and we were told that it would be a “few hours more” to the second my father took his last breath, about 55 hours later actually, we embarked upon a new journey - preparing for the death of someone you love. This was a final journey we were NOT ready for, even though we had seen this wretched disease ravage his body so rapidly. We never spoke about death because doing so would mean that we had given up all hope. Most importantly, despite the discomfort and struggle, Papa was not ready to give up yet. He would always talk about what he would do when he was better. As a result, it seemed traitorous to talk about going.
Which made it so much more painful when it happened.
Death is inevitable
So today, just a little wiser for the experience, I would like to tell everyone out there that death is inevitable- no matter how hard. Inevitable - just like your children graduating and moving further away from you, like best friends saying goodbye, like your ‘child’ getting married and leaving home....
We prepare ourselves for everything, but most of us are in denial about death. We waste time clutching at fragile straws instead of exchanging valuable words of love and comfort. It is just too final. But that doesn’t change the fact that it will come.
Preparing for the death of a loved one
I was lucky that a day before Papa finally passed away, I searched online, in desperation, for support for people preparing for the death of a loved one. The search brought up many useful articles and sites, and here is one that helped immensely.
http://www.caregiverslibrary.org/…/preparing-for-the-death-…
The physical symptoms were all there…restlessness, disorientation, no communication, changes in breathing patterns, and other signs too. Reproduced below is what I really needed to read
Permission To Go
A dying person will commonly try to hold on, even though it brings prolonged discomfort, in order to be assured that those left behind will be all right. A family’s ability to reassure and release the dying person from this concern is the greatest gift of love they can give at this time.
The moment I read this, I knew it had to be done. That this is what was making him hold on! And he needed our permission for release.
It was a tough conversation to have and carried out with many tears even though I had thought I would be strong when I spoke with him. But I was able to say what I wanted to, reassuring him that all the support and strength he had given us through our lives would ensure that we would be fine.
That he need not worry about us.
There wasn’t much to indicate that he had heard and understood me, but at some point, a little later, he lifted a hand... I placed my hand in his, and he covered it with his other hand.
All of us – my stepmother, brother, husband and I were with him when he breathed his last, holding him, kissing him, telling him we loved him - and this privilege will stay with us forever.
One final lesson
As for me, I will read and understand more about death. I will talk to my children about it. And I will learn to accept it as inevitable, just like so many other things.
Papa made sure he left us with one final lesson before he went. My greatest teacher, as always, forever.
Aparna Das, founder director of Arunima, a project for adults with autism
