When A Friend Is Dying

This morning I attended a two-hour meeting for the end-of-life caregivers of one of my friends here. There were about fifteen of us.  First we talked about the logistics of his situation, and then a doctor friend, who had visited him a few days ago, told us what our friend wanted during the weeks preceding his passing, and from us, his caregivers.  There were some tears, though not many, as we figured out who would do what, including keeping everyone in the loop as new issues arise.  Steve has COPD, or something similar, and even with oxygen is having increasing difficulty breathing.  He is fiercely independent, and has been for years.  I watch as he lets go of one task after another, sometimes struggling with his growing  inability to do simple things.  He hasn’t yet gotten angry with me, though he has with others.  I have always been afraid of death.  I had thought that joining a group to figure out how to help a friend face death would be almost unbearable.  Instead I now feel supported by the other group members, and free to talk about my own fears.  One of the women had emailed a document from a compassionate care group about what we could and should expect over the next weeks.  Reading it was both sobering and helpful.  One of the points: don’t volunteer for anything that feels uncomfortable to you. I paid attention, and I won’t.  I should not be there for the last couple of days; I would probably break down and be no help to anyone. The very idea is frightening to me.  However, until he begins his final fast I can make food for him, visit and engage in the conversations we both enjoy, and sit and read if he falls asleep.  I can wash and dry dishes, do the tasks that he requests during the hour or two that I am there.  Writing this makes me teary. I do not want to lose him.  At the same time I am aware that I am  still learning from him: how to plan my own passing with dignity; how to accept the inevitable and find a way to do so with joy – knowing I am loved and that my friends went to show me this love by helping me.   He hasn’t yet gotten angry with me, though he has with others.  I tell myself that this has to be much more difficult for him than for any of us.  I am grateful to be part of this group.  I imagine we will become a tightly knit group, and will remain so long after his passing.