#5 Death - unknown territory

As the family gathers, and long-distance contacts are made at festive occasions like Christmas, those who are no longer with us occupy our thoughts more than usual. My father-in-law passed away in April 2006 after a long illness spent in hospital.

Although I was an adult when I lost three of my grand-parents, I was not 'together' enough at the time to confront the deaths and associated circumstances and proceedings with the fullness they deserved. Therefore, death of a family member was unfamiliar to me when my father-in-law was losing his hold on life.

The following is a brief account of how I dealt with the final stages of his hospitalisation, death, and funeral, along with my interpretation of my involvement in life and love at the time. I wrote this two months after my father-in-law's death:

***** ***** *****

I had never fed an adult. It was a strange experience, but an experience that left me with a warm feeling of belonging.

Life had come full circle for my father-in-law, Sonny. I can only attempt to imagine how degrading and humiliating it must have been for him depending on others to feed, wash and toilet him, as an infant does.

When we walked into the room he'd occupied since leaving the intensive care unit, we found him propped up in bed doing the best he could with a fork and mashed potato. His hand was bruised and swollen. I kissed his scabby cheek with genuine affection, and tenderly hugged his pain ravaged shoulders.

He was brighter and more alert than we had seen him over the previous couple of days, trying to smile at a joke and talking briefly. He relinquished the fork willingly to me and I carefully offered portions of cannelloni and vegetables to his open mouth. He chewed slowly, but heartily, and it was pleasing to see him keen to eat. My other half gave me a nudge to the ribs as I became a little over-enthusiastic with the fork, and I smiled at the comfortable ease of the moment. Half-forgotten parenting skills surfaced and I relived times when I had shovelled food into a toddler's mouth trying to get as much sustenance as possible down the throat while the finicky child was willing to eat. We laughed about it later, with fondness, in private.

I wiped spillage from Sonny's mouth and held a cup of luke-warm tea to his lips. Complex emotions of love and loss were brewing, and I fought back tears. More fond thoughts of motherhood mixed with the sadness of turned tides and impending loss flooded over me as I gently rubbed talcum powder into the chafed folds of his neck, and I was thankful his two sons were talking to him so that my cracked voice went unnoticed.

Medication made him incoherent. He was fading fast and we thought it best to leave him to rest as he drifted in and out of semi-sleep. My husband kissed his father on the forehead and softly but clearly said "I love you". It was a moving moment for me as I had never before seen this private man kiss his father or say those powerful three words to him.

***** ***** *****

After we'd said our goodbyes and left the room, my tears flowed. I cried without shame as we walked down the hospital corridor towards the elevator. I knew I wouldn't see my father-in-law again.

***** ***** *****

Four weeks passed. Life had become unbearable for this helpless man suffering constant chronic pain, wasting away and dependent upon around-the-clock care with no apparent hope for recovery. He asked his wife of fifty years for permission and her blessing to allow him to "sleep forever". Only she, and others who have suffered such an ordeal, can know the anguish and despair of such a situation.

With most medication withdrawn, he drifted into death, hopefully with peace of mind.

***** ***** *****

Death of a family member was a strange and bewildering experience for me to deal with; unknown territory. But support for my husband of thirty years was my priority. He showed a vulnerable and emotional side of himself that was totally out of character, and although I found this extremely comforting, it was rather unsettling. This acknowledgement and expression of feelings and their complex connection with past and present was something I had longed for from him.

Logic is paramount to him, and he sees clear-cut reasons and defined answers with no room for vaguness or compromise. He rarely expands explanations or musings to include background information or emotional connections. I don't believe he does this to deliberately exclude me or to build a protective wall; it is simply his way. Although I accept this, it can be frustrating for me, and I often do feel excluded.

But on this occasion he talked in detail of a lifetime's accumulation of memories, both good and bad, and of his interpretation and the effect upon him of events and non-events regarding his parents. I listened to him and consoled him. We shared our sorrow.

***** ***** *****

At the conclusion of the funeral service I approached the coffin, laid my hand on the cold polished timber and said a brief private final farewell to Sonny.

The ordeal of loss, support and unfamiliar procedure at a time when I was fragile, was a test of my mental strength, commitment to family, and willingness to experience life's challenges. I know I passed with flying colours. I was emotionally strong when it mattered most, offered valuable support to those I love, and lived the experience. This was the 'real' me that had been yearning to escape for so long, finally shining through. It is vital to my wellbeing and growth to be aware of my ability to be strong for myself and for others along my journey towards overcoming depression. In the past I have attempted to avoid difficult life events for reasons that, at the time, I couldn't comprehend or explain.

***** ***** *****

Two months on, death is still baffling for us both. Grief will be intermittent, but has been a healthy process so far.

I have very few regrets concerning my relationship with my father-in-law. Ours was not a close relationship, but one of mutual respect and fondness. Rest in peace, Sonny, and if by slim chance there is a heaven and you're keeping an eye on us, please know that when we laugh about the silly things, it is with pure affection. Laughter is priceless.