Death and Dying 101 Abbie Creed   © Copyright 2023 by Abbie Creed

Photo courtesy of Wikimedia Commons.

Quite a few years ago when I was teaching at St. Raphael School, I was searching through a book of continuing education classes and since I had already taken most of those offered I had very few to choose from. One class that I had not taken was “Death & Dying.” It sounded morbid, but I was somewhat attracted to the title since I had just finished reading a book about life after death.

The class was taught by a nun who had worked with dying patients for many years. I hate to say that I enjoyed the class, but the truth is I really did. One lesson that I especially remembered was about freeing people who are suffering, to die. In fact, not long after I completed the class, I had the opportunity to put that lesson into practice. My own husband had a near death experience, and I was faced with the decision to use what I had learned. I chose to tell my husband that if he had to leave me, I would be ok. I could take care of myself because I had already learned how to balance our checkbook and we had shared knowledge of all our personal effects. We always did these things together and I thanked him for that. I also reminded him that our youngest child was already 18 years old and getting ready to graduate high school. Whether or not he heard me, telling him was a relief for me. From that experience I learned an important lesson about life, how to do something, anything, is the easy part, but putting it into practice can be heart wrenching.

Moving forward from that experience and growing in age and possibly a little wisdom I have come to believe that each of us is here to learn. Life is the classroom, and our experiences are the lessons. From those experiences we gain knowledge and hopefully, we learn from that knowledge and when the opportunity presents itself, we can put that lesson into practice.

As a child I was very afraid of the word, “death.” My mother had died when I was not quite three years old. I had no memory of her at all except that she had died. All that I knew about her is what family members and friends told me. My father died of Parkinson’s disease when I was eleven. I recall him being sick and dying and I remember running away from that whole experience. I really do not remember any of it except attending the funeral.

My Aunt and Uncle raised me, and I remember being so afraid that they would die. My aunt had bronchial asthma and often choked. When that would happen, I could always be found running out the door to hide from it. I grew up with many fears, water, heights, the dark, strangers, and above all storms. We had a wonderful African American woman who lived with us. Lisa was my lifesaver! She told me that if there was enough blue in the sky to make a man’s shirt that it would not storm. I can laugh at it now but when I was young it was my security blanket that I depended on heavily. I laid out the pattern; the arms, the collar, the sides, and the front and if it all fit, I could go to school and visit friends because I knew that it would not storm.

Of course, I outgrew most of the fears except that of death. I hated going to funeral homes and would never view the body when I did have to go. After I married, I experienced the death of my wonderful Aunt and Uncle, and a few brothers and a sister. I also experienced the death of several friends. One awfully close friend had been diagnosed with breast cancer. Though my childhood fears for the most part were gone I developed a new fear – cancer. I avoided every opportunity that I had to visit this friend. One day though I mustered up the courage to call her and we talked for quite a long while. Still, I did not tell her about my new fear, but I did get up the courage to visit when she asked me to come.

I will never forget her calling down from her upstairs bedroom, “Wait until I get my hat on and I’ll be right down.” Her face glowed with excitement at seeing me. My heart was pounding but I was able to keep my composure. I was so ashamed of my failure as a friend but somehow, I believe she knew what I was feeling, and she understood. She was so upbeat and anxious to share her experience of being at the Cancer Center and how wonderful the recent camp for cancer patients had been. She held out a little glass blue bird for me to see. It was the small gift given as a remembrance of her week at camp.

My friend died not too long after my visit but not before I had the opportunity to return several books she had given to me to read. I will never forget her and the life changing experience that I had because of her. The books were so enlightening and encouraging for someone with fears. I vowed never again to be afraid of people who were extremely sick. I came to realize that this experience of talking with a dying friend had a purpose. In fact, I realized that day that everything that happens to us, good or bad, has a purpose. It is an opportunity to grow in faith and knowledge and yes, a bit like Jesus, in favor of God and man.

Another lesson on death and dying came from a neighbor who was a widow with a grown daughter who had Downs Syndrome. The mother had been diagnosed with cancer. She methodically planned for her daughter to reside at Cedar Lake Lodge, a wonderful place that offers a home like atmosphere for people with Downs Syndrome. She had volunteered there for many years to work with other children in hopes that her work there would ensure a spot for her daughter when the time came that they could no longer live together. She was not afraid to die but was afraid that she would not get everything taken care of before the time came. I was teaching fourth grade at the time and had my students make cards for her. Each afternoon when I came from school, I took a few of the cards that in her words, “Made my day.” She read each one carefully and had a response for me to give to the students on my return to school the next day. She taught me not to be afraid of death and I in turn I tried to pass that on to my fourth-grade students.

My 88-year-old father-in-law was the apple of my eye. He also was my husband’s best buddy. My husband was wheelchair bound after his near-death experience. His dad took him out several days a week to visit cousins who resided in a nursing home. After the visit they enjoyed lunching together before coming home. When his dad had a serious heart attack my husband’s life changed drastically and so did mine. There were no more outings and no more lunches together. My very own relief pitcher was no longer available.

I had an awesome experience with him while he was hospitalized. One afternoon I was alone with him while my mother-in-law had a lunch break. He shared with me that he had had an “out of the body” experience. He saw himself sitting straight up in his hospital bed and floating in the air and passing through the wall out of his room. He said that he thought that it might be an omen and he was greatly moved by relating the incident to me. I was honored to be the one person he thought might believe him. He made it certain that I understood that he was not dreaming because he had not been asleep. He was not afraid of what had happened but seemed awed by it.

Four months later my wonderful father-in-law died. On the evening before his passing my husband and I had dinner with him and my mother-in-law. Although his body was rapidly deteriorating, he still had his wonderful sense of humor and enjoyed our time with him. As we were getting ready to leave, he called out to me from his bedroom and said he needed to tell me something. I sat next to him on his bed and in his weakened voice he told me that he loved me like a daughter. I certainly did not expect that those words would be the last I would hear from him. This was a tough lesson but an uplifting one as well. From it I learned to say “I love you” to my children, my family and close friends because I realized that I may never have a second chance to do so.

My brother-in-law was a Catholic priest. He was diagnosed with terminal cancer. I remember so well how he handled the news. He wrote a letter to his close friends and family telling them of the diagnosis and explaining that all his life he had talked with families who had received all kinds of bad news and gave them advice and support. Now, he explained, was his time to “walk the talk,” to practice what he had always preached. And he did just that. Now he said he needed to take his own advice and ask for their prayers and support. He underwent chemo treatments and radiation as well as two brain surgeries. He was given 6 months to live but lived 2 years and 3 months after that diagnosis. His positive attitude and strong faith carried him throughout the entire period. He planned his own funeral in detail from start to finish. Everything had been arranged including his personal affairs. He lived with my husband and me during his last seven months so that he could be close to the hospital where his chemo treatments were being given. He arranged with his doctor to be informed when his death was eminent. He moved himself to a nursing home close by because he refused to die in our home. That was a shock to me because I wanted to have nurses here for him. But I realized that he was protecting my husband and me. Freeing him up to make that choice was difficult. At the time he died Frank Sinatra’s song, “I Did It My Way,” was constantly on my mind because that is exactly what he did, he died “his way.”

The most difficult of all lessons was the experience of my own husband dying. He had been in a wheelchair for 25 years because of two surgeries for three cerebral aneurysms. He was such a man of faith before his surgeries and that served him well after the surgeries. He never complained through all his trials and tribulations. We had celebrated 54 wonderful years of life together when he developed Lymphoma – cancer! We attempted chemo with terrible results and decided to free him of further suffering by stopping the treatments. As a result of that choice, we were privileged to have Hospice (Hosparus now). With their knowledge, expertise, and loving care we were fortunate enough to have him living at home for an additional six months. 

The lessons that I had learned from my class “Death & Dying” were invaluable to me and I was given the privilege again to practice what I had learned from that class. I had already freed him to die 25 years before. I had learned to handle our financial affairs and prepare for the time when I would have to live alone. He was fully conscious until the end and mouthed “Thank you” to a friend who came to see him just an hour before he died. I held him in my arms and wiped his brow as he breathed his last breath. What a blessing that was for me! My life was changed forever. I learned that what was normal to me would never be normal as I knew it. “Normal” changes and a new normal must be created if one is to survive.

There were other lessons to be learned. My next lesson was concerning my husband’s 99-year-old mother who had to be told of her son’s passing. She was suffering from dementia, and it was difficult to explain all this to her. She was residing in a nursing facility. The decision to take her to the funeral home and the funeral service were facing me and my children since her husband and only other child had predeceased her. I tried to put myself in her place and thought about how I would feel if I were in her shoes. After much discussion we decided to take her to the funeral home. What a pitiful sight that was. My son wheeled her into the funeral home and down the hall to the room where my husband was resting. She had to be lifted to see into the casket and it was obvious that she did not comprehend it all. She visited with the family for a short while before returning to the nursing home. The nurse reported to me that she was quite disoriented all that day and into the night. After getting that report we thought it best not to make her life more miserable and decided not to take her to the funeral. She, thank God, never mentioned my husband again nor did she seem to miss him.

I continued my twice weekly visits to the nursing home and had several meals with her during the following five months. The loss was too much for her to bear. She completely gave up and her desire to make it to 100 years old was no longer a priority for her. But another lesson for me was to be experienced. I spent all day every day with her the week before she died. Sometimes I thought she understood what I talked to her about and other times she seemed completely out of it. 

My children and grandchildren visited during that time as well. When the nurse told me that she did not expect her to make it through the day I called in the troups. That is how we referred to all of us coming together when needed. We spent the evening in her room talking about all the fun times we had at “Grandma’s “and remembering all the Thanksgiving dinners, making Christmas ornaments, cutting, and eating asparagus that she grew in her backyard, picking apples from the trees, jumping off the roof of her garage and playing shuffleboard. Even though she was unresponsive we knew that she was hearing the seven of us telling stories about the events of our lives that we had shared and enjoyed with her.

At ten o’clock the nurse told us that there had not been a change for quite some time, and she felt that it would be safe for us to go home to get a good night’s sleep and return in the morning. She promised that if there was the slightest change, she would call me. I lived about three minutes away and could get back quickly. We debated for almost an hour about leaving but went out in the hall to talk it over and decided to take the nurses advice. I had been there since eight in the morning and could use the break. We could not have been three blocks away when the cell phone rang. Grandma had died. We headed back to the nursing home and had a few final moments with her. She had always been in charge, and this was so like her. She too, did it her way.

The next lesson took place close to home. My next-door neighbor and good friend of forty years went to the hospital thinking she had pneumonia. Right there in the emergency room she was diagnosed with breast cancer. It had metastasized to her lungs and involved her bones. She met a wonderful oncologist who was always upbeat but honest with her about her condition. She was a retired nurse who was very aware of her situation and the understanding of the diagnosis that she had received; stage four breast cancer. For a year she took oral drugs and seemed to respond well. But the drugs quit working and she opted to undergo the use of an experimental drug. I brought her Holy Communion every day and had many opportunities to learn from her. She had a determination to win the biggest battle of her life and she was convinced that she was going to beat the cancer. I watched her fight it until the oncologist told her that she could no longer take part in the experimental trial because after the routine beginning doses there was no improvement. That was a requirement for continuing in the program. Hosparus came to the rescue and began their bi-weekly visits until they determined that she needed to be in their in-hospital unit.

I visited her daily in the unit and we continued our talks about the good times, things that were important in life, and the fun times we enjoyed as neighbors and friends. Then finally there was a quite different talk. This time she wanted to plan her own funeral. I brought my note pad to the hospital, a Bible, and Hymnal from church and from her bed she chose Scripture readings, her favorite music, who she wanted to take an active role at the Mass and instructions for me to carry out. Before she lost consciousness, she directed this final ritual in the same way she had always directed her life.

It was hard to say goodbye to my own private nurse, one of my best friends, and someone who had been like a sister to me. Our children grew up together and attended the same schools, played mini ball across the backyards, had picnics, and were also good friends. She and I were members of the “Ding-a-Lings,” our Bunco Club, we went to Sarafun club at church, Girls Day Out shopping sprees, and when my husband was sick and confined to the wheelchair, she was the one who insisted on taking him to the State Fair, the Racetrack, and shopping trips. She was my support and on-call nurse when he was dying.

From my friend I learned how to be with a dying friend. I realize they do not want sympathy; they just want to share their concerns and thoughts and sometimes their fears. At times there is no need for talk but just to be present. Sometimes just a short visit or a note of appreciation letting them know you are thinking about them is all that is necessary. In other words, do for them that you would like for them to do for you.

Two of the latest lesson comes from two friends who are suffering from terminal illnesses. One was diagnosed with Pulmonary Fibrosis and the other with inoperable abdominal cancer. Each knew that any day could be her last. I have never experienced such faith and extraordinary attitudes in my life. They are both an inspiration for anyone who knew them. I have had several opportunities to take lunch and visit with them. They live in condos next door to one another. My latest visit to their home was with two other mutual friends. Again, we took a light lunch and listened to an update on their conditions. They are joyful as they report and say, “What will be, will be.”

We all Started laughing when the friend with cancer began telling how she called her daughter to come over to help her. She had several different outfits that she could wear to be buried in but was having difficulty choosing the right one. She reminded her daughter to bring her camera along. The story went on and we were all trying to remain composed at this divine comedy being told by a dying woman. As she tried on each outfit she would lie down on the sofa and cross her hands so she could see what she would look like. She did this procedure with each outfit. By this time, we were laughing hysterically. She ended the story by saying, “I didn’t like how I looked in any of them” so I am going to have to look for something else. She began describing in detail what she was looking for and why. She wanted something lacy with a high neck so you could not see the little spots on her neck.

These two women were full of life. They were fun loving, and they were living life to the fullest. Both had just returned from trips. One was visiting her grandson and his family for two weeks in the mountains and the other just returned from the wedding of a grandchild. They have continued their activities, with some limitations of course, but neither of them has discontinued the life they had before diagnosis. Yes, they are living it slower because one is using a cane for balance and the other is tethered to an oxygen tank. She has a portable one for use when she leaves the house.

What have I learned from all this? A diagnosis is just that- a diagnosis. It is not necessarily a life sentence. I am convinced that faith is the strongest factor in each of my lessons, and faith and believing that life is not ended when we die. That concept is uppermost in the minds of each person. Our attitude toward life is of utmost importance. How we look at negative things that happen and whether we dwell on the negative rather than looking for the positive, impacts the way we live and the way we die. I thank God every day for the lessons that I have experienced, and I hope and pray that when the time comes for me to practice all that I have learned from these lessons, I will pass the test!

Since the writing of this article these two wonderful women of faith have died. I will never forget to give thanks for their presence in my life and in the life of our community of believers. They were living examples of how to live and die gracefully. They walked the talk in ways that I will never forget and that are still being expressed today among family and friends.

As I read over these lessons, I cannot help remembering many other people who have crossed my path, living, and deceased, and I realize how blessed I am. I have come to believe that every person who crosses our paths on this life’s journey plays a vital role in our growth in faith and knowledge. Each experience, or life lesson, becomes a part of who we are. All our lessons are a gift from God. What we do with what we have learned is our gift to God and living the gift gives glory to God.

My fear of death is long gone now. I had volunteered as funeral coordinator at my church working to help bereaved families choose Scripture readings, music, and prepared a Worship Aid for the funeral of their loved one until the pandemic. It is hard for me to believe, as I look back today, that I was that frightened little kid who hid from life –and death. I no longer fear death but I have to admit that I get a bit apprehensive when thinking about the final lesson to be learned and I become the teacher.