Losing a loved one

North End

Hey there, time traveller!
This article was published 26/04/2023 (1052 days ago), so information in it may no longer be current.

I lost my 90-year-old stepfather just before Christmas last year. He got very sick and never recovered. I put my life on pause and stayed with him in the hospital for the last week of his life. It was hard to watch him slowly deteriorate but I knew his suffering would soon be over. I had to be strong not only for him but also for my mother, who had lost her husband (my father) 30 years prior (also in December). I sat by my stepfather’s bedside each day and read from his Bible to comfort him. He was too weak to speak for the first couple days, but I would speak to him and tell him that “God loves you,” over and over.

On the third day, when we woke up, I asked him “How are you?” like I did every morning, and to my surprise he answered softly, “I’m OK.” I told him I loved him, and that God loves him, to which he replied, “God loves me,” three times. I quickly phoned my mother so they could talk.

Then he asked me, “Doug, am I dying?” I wasn’t sure if I should tell him the truth, but I certainly didn’t want to lie. I told him that yes, his body was weak and so was his heart. He didn’t take this very well. I told him that if he really wanted to live that God would probably let him live.

My stepfather was very involved with his Ukrainian Orthodox church as an elder. His priest came in the next day to says prayers for “the soul to leave the body” (sort of like the last rites). It was quite a beautiful ceremony. The priest asked me to help expose his wrists when the time came to anoint him with oils. My stepfather seemed to be fully aware of everything going on and had his hands in prayer under the sheets. When the time came to anoint him, he threw the covers off and offered his wrists. My mother, two of her sisters, a brother-in-law and my sister were there, and we were quite astonished when he did this. At the end of the ceremony my father looked the priest up and down and at that point I think it really hit home that yes, indeed, his time was drawing near. I think he was ready.

Apparently, one of the last senses to go is the sense of hearing, so I would read from his Bible, say prayers for him and speak with him for the next few days before he passed. I was so happy to be there at his side for that last week of his life. It wasn’t easy and was a very emotional time but after all that he did for my mother, my family and myself over the years, I figured it was the least I could do for him. When he slept, I would read, journal and write poems. I wrote some of my most emotional and heaviest poems in that week and have shared some at a few open mics in the city. I also read a few at his funeral. I like to think that my stepfather helped me write some of those poems. I find that writing poetry is very cathartic and has helped me deal with trauma and loss over the years.

At the end of the week, after we woke up, I could see that his breathing was becoming very weak. A nurse came to confirm that he didn’t have much longer. I’m glad that he waited for me to wake up before he left. I also phoned my mother so she could say her last goodbyes.

My father was in the ‘comfort care’ ward at Concordia Hospital and the staff were absolutely amazing.