Hi Helen,

This could be interesting, I'll set the ball rolling ...

My parents lived near Lancaster, I'd moved away with my family and was working for the NHS on a project which took me all over the country. I was working in Leeds when Dad called to say Mum was starting to slip away and if I wanted to say goodbye I'd best set off soon.

Mum had fought Cancer for several years and had tricked her way out of a hospice (another story) as she wanted to die at home, in peace, with her family around her. 

There's no quick way to drive from Leeds to Lancaster, so I took the A roads across country via Skipton and the Dales. This would normally have been a lovely drive through the countryside - it was a beautiful spring day, but I hardly noticed.

I arrived at their house to find two nurses in her bedroom who were sorting out a problem with her syringe driver. They asked me to wait, but I firmly but politely pushed them out of the room. Mum seemed to be sleeping, but chuckled about me being so stroppy with them. She said she was glad I'd made it and could I call my Dad and sister in? I did and she died with us sat around her, holding her hand. 

I'm sure that she'd waited for me to arrive before she finally went to sleep for good :-) 

Dave

What a beautiful story, davek, and a memory to treasure!

Hi Helen,

Growing up we were always a close family and I was especially close to my aunt Helen. When her partner passed away many years ago, I would stay with my aunt 2 or 3 times a week right the way through my childhood.

We were always like best friends, she would be the person to always make me laugh and she was very sarcastic. And although she appeared to have a hard exterior, I would always know when she was feeling down and that she was the kindest person I know. She was always so generous and caring to me, and even as I grew up (I'm now 21) we were very close. 

Late November she was admitted to hospital, where we found out she had terminal cancer. It began in her bowels but by the time they found it, it had spread to all her organs and bones. They said she had a few months to live and we had one more Christmas with her. Sadly, this didn't happen. She passed away a couple of weeks before. Only a few weeks after finding out she had cancer.

When I visited her, she was the same aunty Helen I always knew, so brave. She was very humerous and said "well there's nothing we can do about it now" and "lifes a b***h and then you die", even when faced with the fact she wasn't going to live much longer and see her grandchild grow up, she made sure that she had us laughing instead of crying.

As she worsened, she wanted to come to my mums house with her family to die. I live away, and I remember getting there that day. She was in pain and was slowly loosing herself, but as I walked in she looked at me, trying her best to smile and said "hello you". She passed away 2 nights after that, with all her family around her holding her hand at our home. It was so special and I will never forget how brave and humerous she was even towards the end. She always has been and is my inspiration.

Erin x

My dad died 4 months ago. He went downhill so quickly at the end that he didn't even have an end of life care plan in place. It sounds silly to say, given he was terminally I'll, but his death was so unexpected...at least at that moment in time. We thought someone would tell us it was his last few weeks and we'd have this period of time to say our goodbyes.

On reflection, Dad went quietly, without a fuss, which is so typical of him. I left on the Friday for a wedding (7 hrs away). He apologised for not getting out of his chair, hugged me and thanked me for everything I was doing to help. I said he didn't need to thank me. As I left it was the first time I'd been nervous I might not see him again.

I spoke to him on Sunday and he sounded terrible. He told me not to worry and that it was just the morphine making him drowsy. I told him to get some rest and I'd see him tomorrow. He died that night before I got to see him again. I wish I'd gotten in the car right then and not waited.

What a lovely Idea for a thread

My wife was a semi professional artist - Sometimes ait was a bit of a bone of contention as half completed art and materials were often spread throughout our quite small cottage.

When she was in for the last time her blood pressure was so low that the machines couldn't measure it and it had to be taken manually by one or two of the nurses who had a soft touch and really good hearing.

I smiled at her and said "I'll raise her blood pressure, I'm going hope to tidy her artworks!"

She opened her eyes and said "Don't you bloody dare" - those were her last words

I guess we'd all like to think that we'll leave the world with a more pithy send off but we can't all be Oscar Wilde

Hi Helen

My hubby passed away in 2015 having had a terminal diagnosis for nearly three years.  He was a man of few words generally but had made it clear that he wished to stay at home.  His last day (though we were not aware it would be!) was spent  in our lounge watching his two young grandchildren play, along with our adult children generally chatting and keeping him company along with the in and out visit of the wonderful community nurses attached to his GP surgery. When everyone had seen him settled for the evening him and I watched the tv as he dozed on and off.  At around 10.15 he asked when I was going to bed and I said 'soon' and went into the kitchen.  It was just some minutes later when I became aware in a change in his breathing and returning to his bedside he looked suprised to see me there, told me he was tired and that I should go to bed.  I took his hand, thought I must ring our kids but there was no time as he just went to sleep, peacefully for the last time.   It was no consolation that he looked more peaceful than he had done throughout his journey with Mesothelioma.  Sadly missed but wonderful memories of our life together.

An interesting topic for a thread and thank you to the others who shared.  Jules

Thank you for taking the time to share such touching and profound moments, [@jules54]‍[@GrahamM]‍[@RachelH]‍and [@Erinnmai]‍ 

I noticed a follow-up article to the one I posted and thought it might be something that some of you might like to read: Last words of loved ones: our writers share their memories. I particularly liked Christina Patterson's title comment, that 'no conversation can bear the weight of being the last'.

Please do continue to write here if you would like to.

Helen

Cancer Chat Moderator