Lisa Bradley

Lisa shared her story in August of 2024.

My mom was the one we would call if something was wrong and we needed advice or if something was wonderful and we wanted her to share in our joy. She had a master’s degree in counseling, which helped her to listen, empathize and validate without telling us what to do. When she wasn’t lending her ear to our triumphs or travails, she was singing, smiling and cracking jokes. Mom loved holidays — every holiday. Christmas, July 4th, St. Patrick’s Day: She had the clothes, the decorations, the jewelry, the garden flags, everything. 

Mom died peacefully in April of 2024. It was very difficult to witness her passing, but I’m so thankful that I was able to be at her side, without having to worry about making decisions for her end-of-life or after-death care, because she had already made those decisions for herself. I was able to just be present — to just grieve. 

As early as my 20s, when my parents were both still healthy and of sound mind, they started having family discussions and making decisions about their end-of-life care. They designated a financial power of attorney as well as a medical power of attorney. They signed advance directives stating their wishes that they did not want to be kept alive should they no longer be able to breathe or eat on their own. They made arrangements with a funeral home to have their bodies donated to the University of Florida for research and teaching. At the time I was hesitant, thinking, “Ew, why are we talking about this now?” Thirty years later, I am extremely grateful that they had those discussions and made those decisions. 

About eight years ago, my mom had a series of strokes that first took away her ability to drive and then to read. Then she started having other struggles. Cooking became challenging, and one day she had an incident in the kitchen where a plastic pot caught fire when she put it on the stove.

Ultimately, Mom was diagnosed with dementia. 

My dad was not able to provide the care that she needed in their home, so they moved to an assisted living residence together. Even as she continued to decline rapidly, necessitating a move into the memory care unit of the facility, Mom always knew who we were. She also remembered the lyrics of many songs from her era — songs I grew up with by artists like Barry Manilow and The Carpenters — and we’d sing them together.  

After about two years of Mom being in a wheelchair and unable to feed or bathe herself, in early 2024 we brought in hospice to keep her comfortable and to coordinate her care. She was showing signs that she was approaching the end of life: sleeping all the time, eating less and less, and losing weight. Once a week, the hospice nurse came in to check her vitals, and a social worker made weekly visits as well. Because the memory care nurses had known her for more than three years, they had a loving relationship with Mom. They were so gentle with her — brushing her hair, washing her, holding her hand and talking with her. They always called her by her name. 

I always thought that hospice was for people for whom death was just days away. But I’ve learned a lot since then. Look at Jimmy Carter! In Mom’s case, however, it did happen fairly quickly. About two months after she had started on hospice, the family received the call that Mom was “transitioning.” She was no longer eating or drinking, and they believed she was less than a week away from death. 

We knew because of Mom’s stated wishes that we were not going to use a feeding tube or do anything else to prolong her life, which is one of the reasons we had started her on hospice when we did. The nurses stopped administering her regular medications and commenced the morphine to keep her comfortable. For the next five days, our family didn’t leave her side. 

There are two kinds of goodbyes when someone with dementia dies. We had been grieving Mom for at least three years; she wasn’t herself anymore. Now that she’s physically gone, it’s a different kind of grief. That grief sits hand in hand with my gratitude that in the end, my mother was comfortable, not in pain, with her family surrounding her. Thanks to my parents’ careful planning, we didn’t have to make any last-minute decisions that could have turned into family disagreements about her care or logistics. We knew Mom’s wishes and already had arrangements in place for after her passing. Her end of life wasn’t long or drawn out, and we’d had the time and space to grieve.  

I’ve also emerged from this with a deep appreciation for hospice and Mom’s caregivers. Mom’s nurses were not only attentive to her; they also set up a bed for us in her room, hugged us, and when Mom finally died, opened a window in her room so that her soul could be free. Even after her passing, I’ve continued to benefit from hospice through their bereavement counseling services. It helps me know what to expect and understand why one day I’m fine and the next day I’m not. It’s pointed me toward resources that I didn’t even know were available. 

Meanwhile, my dad has kept his loved ones apprised of his wishes and his end-of-life planning documents up to date. His philosophy is that he wants to make his passing as easy on us as possible, without any stress beyond the expected grief. He’s even designated a close friend as his medical power of attorney so that my sister and I don’t have to make those choices. This is such a gift that he has given to our family. 

Everyone needs to plan ahead for their end of life, regardless of their age or health situation. You never know when something could happen suddenly and unexpectedly. As for me, I have an advance directive and have communicated my wishes to my children so that when my time comes, it’s a little bit easier for them. I’ve used my mom as a segue into that conversation. I told my children, “I don’t know if what happened to my mom is going to happen to me, but if it does, I’d like for things to go the same way.” It was a blessing with my mom’s passing not to have to make decisions that would not have come naturally in a crisis. I just want the same thing for my children. And I’ve told them about Compassion & Choices and how they’re helping people prepare for the end of life. I believe that it’s helping me grieve to be a part of something bigger than me. 

Learn More About Dementia End-of-Life Care: 

Dementia Values and Priorities Tool