“We are all just walking each other home.” ~Ram Dass
The “conversation” now rolls off my tongue with ease. But that was not always the case.
My mom celebrates her 88th birthday this summer, and fortunately, she is pretty darn healthy. So there really is no rush on having this important talk with her, right?
That was certainly the strategy we used with my husband’s parents. Tim and I put off talking about their end-of-life wishes at each of our many annual visits. The fifteenth summer proved to be a turning point.
“Norma, there is a chance that what the doctor has to say at your appointment will not be good news,” I said calmly, yet nervously, as we ate lunch together.
Our family had truly reached an eleventh-hour moment. While Norma’s husband, Leo, was dying in a dimly lit hospice suite, she was to receive test results from her OB/GYN later that day. We knew that it was time to ask them both some very important questions. Even then, we struggled to have “the conversation” about how they would like their last days to play out. Despite our best intentions, Leo slipped away before we could ever have this essential discussion with the two of them together.
We found ourselves with so many unanswered questions. What was important to them? What was unresolved? What still provided joy? What if one of them died before the other? How did they want to be cared for in their last days? How did they want to be remembered?
“I know one thing, if they tell me I have cancer I don’t want any of that chemo, no poking and prodding — no treatment. I’ll just leave it be. What do you think about that, Timmy?” The clarity in Norma’s voice was heartening, and this provided an opening for further discussion.
As we navigated through the inspiring journey together for what proved to be her last year of life, trust and ease prevailed through our conversations. We were sure to also have the supportive legal documents, including her advanced directive, for absolute clarity of her wishes, down to her desire to be anointed with lavender oil at the end.
Ten years after Norma passed, my own mom has grown very accustomed to talking about these things. In fact, she often initiates these chats during each visit. It no longer feels like a daunting conversation filled with dread. Norma’s experience gave us permission to open this dialogue.
My siblings are also thrilled, and they are now just as confident bringing up what was once taboo, not only with our aging mom, but also with their own children.
Our greatest hope is that Miss Norma’s story will help other families have an easier time broaching this difficult subject. Although we know that driving your loved one around in a motorhome at the end of their life is certainly not the answer for everyone, we must ask, “How would you like to be walked home?”
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