Issue #7. The death chats
Crone Ann Blackburn shares her positive experience of talking with her dad about death and his wishes. #TrainingForAgeing
Note from Juzza, TTTW editor. Hello there crones, crones-in-training, friends and allies. I know social media gets a lot of shit, but sometimes it brings amazing people into your life who you would not otherwise have known. The writer of today’s missive (plus a beautifully bonkers piece coming soon about the joy of croning ceremonies) is just such a person. We connected on Insta @crone_club_reclaiming_crone via Ann’s side hustle @papiermaverick - where she makes these marvellous maverick crones from papier mache, including this fabulous crone for her handy pal’s 60th crone crowning. And yes, she does commissions! You can get in touch with her @papiermaverick.)
Anyway, we got chatting about death, as yer do, and the Tits to the Wind piece I’d written about preparing for the death of my dad. On the back of our chat, Ann kindly penned a few words about the ‘death chats’ she had with her dad. I was going to add other voices to it, but you know what, sometimes things are just perfect as they are.
Much love and huge thanks to Ann for sharing this vignette and some beautiful reading resources which I know our bookish readers will appreciate. Juzza. xxx
Death chats by Crone Ann Blackburn
My dad and I talked about death a lot in the last few years of his life. But I had no idea the impact it would have when it came to death itself.
As it turned out, it transformed everything.
It’s the 26th July 2012 and my dad (82) has sent me an email:
Dear Ann, I'm enclosing an attachment which I'd like your comments on. I think you will understand better than anyone what I mean by a reasonable quality of life - I don't want to be in a position where boredom is so acute that I'm reduced to watching daytime TV for instance. And I wouldn't ever on any account agree to live in a home for old people.
If I can put this into a suitable shape after any suggestions from you, I'll get a Medic to look at it because I want to be sure that it carries weight. Love, Dad
My dad is messaging about his ‘Advance Directive’ or ‘Living Will’ (‘Advance Decision to Refuse Treatment’ or ADRT in legal terms) and it’s me who’s suggested it.
We’re deep in death chats. The ADRT is about to be finalised and he’s already assigned Power of Attorney to me and my sister. I’m lucky to have him. Sometimes our similarities mean we irritate the hell out of each other, but the love and mutual understanding runs deep. Take his horror at daytime TV, revealed in the email above. He sees it as a death sentence. So do I (I know, we’re weird).
When my dad falls ill with Idiopathic Pulmonary Fibrosis in January 2016, I’m as prepared as I can be. I understand my dad’s wishes. The paperwork is in place. I’ve talked to friends and I’ve read books.
The ADRT is key. It comes with us everywhere.
I wait patiently as the consultant in Intensive Care reads it and my dad and I discuss it with the consultant shortly after. As a result, my dad refuses ventilation (or ‘intubation’).
It’s a good decision; he escapes the horror he feels at the thought of it, and it means he can communicate and advocate for himself for longer.
I highlight the ADRT when we arrive at the local hospice a few days later. It’s a comfort to my dad and the last thing he checks the day before he dies: ‘Do they know about the Advance Directive?’
Although I wonder if either of us knew it before, my dad has trained me to be his death doula. I’m lucky; there’s no one else vying for the role, although my sister is here and later, my son and nephew.
While my dad can talk, my sister and I take turns to sit with him. The death chats continue. My dad’s an atheist and we reflect on the nothingness we expect after death and laugh about it. His acceptance astounds me. ‘I wouldn’t have thought I could be so content’.
As my dad slips in and out of consciousness and loses the capacity to speak, I turn down offers of last rites (‘my dad’s spiritual, but not religious’). I ask the hospice staff ‘are you doing everything you can?’ which I know means I want them to hasten his death (they don’t of course, at least not in the way I mean).
He wants this too; only a few days before he’s said ‘If they could give me a pill I’d take it - and I really mean that’.
I massage his feet. Listen for signs of distress or discomfort. They don’t come.
I speak to him as we arrive on the final morning and he opens his eyes briefly.
Not every death is peaceful, but again we’re lucky. My dad doesn’t struggle for breath, it simply fades away.
My dad was a man who knew how to parent and our death chats were part of that. Those conversations set me up for a role that, aside from giving birth, is the most important thing I’ve done.
Now I talk to my 30 year old son about death; I’m not sure if he’ll be my death doula, but if he is I want him to be as prepared as I was.
In memory of Ken Blackburn, the best of dads, died 2 February 2016.
Information on Advance Directives and Living Wills
Info on ADRTs from NHS website - includes: what is an ‘advance decision’, who can make one, info about legalities etc (opens new window, NHS website).
Information from ‘Compassion in Dying’ website - includes a useful template to help you create your own (opens new window, Compassion in Dying website).
Books I have read and found helpful
(NB. This is a personal thing. When I’m curious or anxious about something, I read about it. It helped me, but may not work for others).
Before my dad died:
Being Mortal: illness, medicine and what matters in the end, Atul Gawande
Do No Harm: Stories of Life, Death and Brain Surgery, Henry Marsh
After:
The Iceberg: A Memoir, Marion Coutts
The Year of Magical Thinking, Joan Didion
When Breath Becomes Air, Paul Kalanithi
Staring at the Sun: being at peace with your own mortality, Irvin Yalom
Share your experiences 👇🏽
Did you have death chats with your parents? Or did you wish you’d had the chance? Have you read any of the above resources, or do you have recommendations to share to help others get in training for ageing? Please share in the comments below. 👇🏽
Are you a woman who is 50+ and have an idea to submit for a future Tits to the Wind? Will it…
🤩 Inspire and celebrate some of the joys that can be found after menopause or help us get in training for the life events of midlife and beyond?
💚 Connect and celebrate older women and their work, and foster sisterhood?
😲 Make mischief - challenge lazy stereotypes and help us feel differently about the negative female ageing narrative?
DM me for guidelines and a chat! And OMG, we’ve got some great stuff coming up. Thank you for staying with us.
Much love and croneage.
Juzza xxx
Great piece and lots of good refs for more info.
As painful as losing a loved one can be, Death is an important conversation to be had
This is a great topic. How wonderful that you and your dad had such trust and openness with each other, and that his end was as he wished.
We are so lacking in experience and information about death these days, a lot of us dying in medical surroundings rather than at home perhaps?
I have always been curious and fascinated about death, but come from a very ‘buttoned up’ family. My mum died in hospital 18 months ago in an atmosphere of fear and silence (hers) and frustration on my part that we couldn’t discuss her needs & feelings about what was happening. She had been in declining health for a few years and was too fearful to ever discuss death or what she wanted.
Something that sticks in my mind is that on the day she died, hours from her death, I asked a nurse if my mother was dying & the reaction was as if I’d said something totally unmentionable and I was ‘shushed’ and given no answer!
After Mum died I read Kathryn Mannix - With the End in Mind, as mentioned above and would highly recommend it. Had I known how close the end was and that the behaviours and symptoms my mum was experiencing were a normal part of dying, well, who knows? I think I’d have made a more relaxed deathbed witness and comfort for my mum.
More death and dying talk is needed.