My best friend died last week. He had a series of strokes after going through some very invasive surgery on his hip and leg. He was seventy-nine years old, but no one would have ever guessed him to be that old. He was one of those forever young in spirit sort of characters that are far too rare in our world.

I went to see him the day before he died. He lived three hundred miles from my home and I knew he would not know I was there but I wanted to be with his wife and family. To my amazement, he was awake and recognizing people that one day. He could not talk but could smile, grab my hand and mouth words. I was able to tell him how much I loved him and to give him permission to turn loose of his struggle to live. That is when he kissed my hand. He died the next day.

At lunch that day his wife and daughter were struggling with some issues that most folks face in circumstances such as this, but are usually not discussed. They were feeling guilty because they were not as happy that he was awake that day as they expected to be. The ordeal had already been so long and they were so exhausted that, in spite of their great love for him, they could not be happy that the ordeal might continue longer than the doctors and the hospice had predicted. They were thinking the unthinkable, they wanted it to be over and felt terrible for thinking such horrible thoughts. I was able to share with them that these were normal thoughts felt by almost all of the families I have walked with through a long dying process. We love the person deeply, but for their sakes and for ours we become ready for it to be over.

The second issue that churned inside of them was, “if he continues to be awake and improve, do we start nourishing him again?” They had already stopped all nourishment as he had instructed them and as the family had agreed to do. Now they were wondering what to do if the doctor suggested that the nourishment be started again. The doctor had told them he thought the fact that my friend was conscious did not mean the death was delayed, but they were struggling with “What if it is?” On the one hand they did not want to continue his suffering and pain, on the other hand not to feed made them feel like they were starving him to death. 

I explained that, if our hearts don’t stop for some reason, all of us will ultimately starve to death. That is how we die. Our bodies lose the ability to absorb food and we starve whether or not we are being fed. One doctor told me that once the body shuts down, anything we put in becomes toxic. He also explained that this is not a slow or agonizing way to die. The body simply slows down and we gradually go into a comma as death comes. That is the natural way we are designed to die. Stuffing food into a body that has shut down creates swelling and pain. 

The day came when I had to decide to stop all nourishment for my father. The doctor offered to start an IV but run it so slow it would not do anything except make the family feel better, but I told him that was not necessary. We had long ago talked out how each family member felt about heroic efforts to extend life and we were comfortable with our decision. It still was not an easy decision to make, but I have always felt like it was my final gift to my father. 

I hope the family felt better after getting these feelings out in the open and finding out they were normal feelings to have. The next day, my friend slipped away in peace. They had given him the same gift I gave my father.

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