So lovely, Wendy. Thank you for sharing this intimate piece of your life. I, too, have sat vigil, many times, especially in my 20s when I lost so many friends to AIDS, but the hardest vigil by far was at my father's bedside in 2011. He was not communicative the last week of his life, and I was his health proxy, doing the things to make his transition as peaceful and painless as possible, administering morphine as the hospice nurse trained me to do. I talked to him, I bathed him, and told him how much I loved him and appreciated all the things he did for me throughout the course of my life. He died quietly in his hospital bed, in his living room the moment I stepped away to tend to something in the kitchen. I was gone for not more than a minute. It was a very hard thing, all of it. Some days I miss him very much. He would have been so happy that I finally started writing, something he always encouraged me to do. xoxo
Thank you, Nan. Thanks for sharing your own experiences, too. Sorry you have had to sit vigil so many times in your life. Those losses to AIDS were so hard.
It really can be a privilege to sit with the dying, though, as it sounds like it was with your father. Isn't it strange how the dying often wait till you've stepped out of the room to choose their moment! I felt very lucky with the way things went with my dad and that it was genuinely as he would have wanted. By contrast, my mum was whisked into hospital and none of us could get there in time. I’m still sad about that.
Ian’s mum is on a peaceful palliative care ward – a comfortable place to sit alongside.
Sending you love, and wishes for Ian's mom's peaceful transition. It was a very sacred experience to be with my father in those last days of his life. And it hurt, and it was a relief to let him go, and see him let go. xo
I was thinking today of my own father's death during Covid. I was permitted to visit him one last time and did the day before, but he died alone in the Veteran's Centre the following morning. I so wish I had kidnapped him and brought him home instead!
Thank you, AB. That’s so sad about your dad. My lovely aunt died in her nursing home during the peak of the pandemic. That was such a tough time, wasn’t it? Restrictions had lifted enough by summer of ‘21 that we could get dad home and a number of us could be there, rather than just one person. A few months earlier and it would have been a different story.
My father died in June, 2020 so my too short visit the day before he died involved full PPE. I don't know if he would have known who I was at that point without the mask and shield and gown, but I was pretty sure I looked just like all the rest of the staff at the Centre, so I placed headphones on his ears and started to talk into the microphone.
I talked and talked. About things he loved. My Mom, his grandchildren, me, vacations we took as a family, our dog Peppo. Anything that I thought would release good memories. I'll stop here....
And thanks for triggering another story idea, Wendy. You mentor, you.
I’m glad you were able to find a way to communicate, AB. I’m sure that would have been reassuring for him.
I meant to comment on your very thoughtful piece on assisted dying the other day, but with all that’s been going on it slipped my mind. I will go back to it in the morning and comment.
After reading your touching piece earlier, Andrea, I know I'm not the only one with bedside vigils on my mind. Thinking of you and your brother and your sister-in-law.
SO sweet of you Wendy. My sister-in-law lives in the New Forest, my husband and his brother (who like us, is in the US, but he is in Michigan) will go back to England when she asks for them. It is beautiful to witness their love! Sending more hugs- we need to stock up, right. xoxo
Your mother wrote about the treasures of Creation, and she cared for the "smaller creatures." Now your granddaughter continues her legacy by lining the foot of the hospital bed for your father with seashells before his passing. What a beautiful image! I wasn't there when my daughter Alix died. But I wish I could have held her hand for the bedside vigil.
Thank you, Julie, for such a thoughtful comment – I'm touched that you refer to my mother's mention of "treasures of Creation".
I'm sorry you weren't there when your daughter Alix died. I know things often don't work out the way we would want and that must have been and must still be really hard for you.
Writing this yesterday and remembering a time when things did go about as well as they could have in my dad's case was cathartic. I was also thinking of other times when things did not go to plan – and of others in that situation.
Just reading this now as soon as it arrived - you've really captured a bit of everything.
I did this too with my mum - just the two of us as my dad had passed the year previous and my brothers were overseas. I was seventeen and the experience has stayed with me my entire life, it changed me. The nurse on duty unhelpfully offered me a cigarette afterwards I will never forget the absurd war-time attitude of that. (I didn't even smoke!) The sea shells by the bed in your own tale is excruciatingly poignant - children don't understand and yet, they do. Truly skillful detailing here, Wendy. I am so sorry for your loss and also for what your partner is currently going through. So hard, all of it.
I decided to publish straight away rather than wait till morning, as the vigil at Ian's mum's bedside is continuing tonight.
It felt a privilege to be with my dad and for it to be so peaceful and as he wanted. It was hard to accomplish, given that we were only partially emerging from the pandemic at the time. My mum's death two months later was different, rushed into hospital and none of us could get there in time. I felt so sad about that. But I'm grateful she too had a long life. It must have been so hard for you, Sue, your parents dying so young.
My granddaughter's presence was wonderful. She brought joy to us all, my father included.
A lovely, thoughtful piece of writing Wendy, my thoughts are with Ian & the family.
In a way one could say my sister & I recently sat vigil watching over our dear mother as she passed away …. From India, connected through WhatsApp video call and my nephew, who was in Vienna at her bedside, holding her hand and the phone in his other hand so we could also be there with her. Technology, at times a wonderful thing!
You write like an angel Wendy, not that I've ever met one. But I'd look for them in the kind of sensitivity and observance of life you have in your writing. I've sat in vigil many times and communed in the space as a nurse. I've always thought it was a sacred space, from my first death as a young nurse. He was an elderly gentleman, in a nightingale ward, with curtains drawn. I was with him tending his needs, and had to pop out for something. I was only gone a minute and he was gone when I returned. I felt so sad he left with no farewell.
I was committed to being with my parents to farewell their spirit as they left this world. I am grateful beyond measure this came to pass. My dad died in the evening on a Sunday not long after I returned from a brief break to walk my dog. He waited until we were both on the bed beside him and then he left.
We toasted dad and sat with him for a while, there was no hurry. I then bathed him and anointed his body with essential oils, then Rick tenderly did his last shave. There was no need to call undertakers in the middle of the night, so I stayed with dad, asleep on the floor beside him until dawn. My dog Purusha, who accompanied him in his frailty, remained by his side until he left this house.
Thank you, Lisa for such a beautiful comment and sharing your experiences.
Yes, I think it can be a real privilege to be there when (or just before) someone dies. My own fear of death has somewhat reduced now I've been close to others experiencing it.
Your faithful dog's reaction to your dad! That is so touching. Dogs are often so attuned to what's happening.
A peaceful death is such a blessing. My Dad was very ill, but had not come to terms with the end of his life. It was a very difficult time. I visited with my Dad in the days leading up to his death, but wasn't there for the end. My Mum and brother made it too difficult to stay. I can only hope he knew how much I loved him.
Beautiful and moving, thanks for sharing this Wendy.
My vigil beside my father's bed lasted an hour. I had arrived from Mexico, sent my mother and brother off to eat something, and he went once they were out of the room. A terrible shock for my mother when she returned but he chose the right moment. I told him that it was OK, not to be frightened, to go... and he did.
Oh wow Wendy , such a beautiful piece , I had tears in my eyes. Thank you so much for sharing such a special post. How wonderful you had that conversation with your dad and he died so peacefully surrounded by loved ones. I love the little shells that your granddaughter put in a row. Sorry to hear about Ian’s mum’s vigil, must be so difficult 😞
Thanks, Francis. We weren’t sure how long my dad had and in truth we (my siblings and I) had been panicking a bit about him coming home from hospital without a full care package in place. But it turned out it was the right thing to do and I’m so glad I spent that last night at his bedside.
Ian’s mum is on a peaceful palliative care ward, away from the bustle, and multiple visitors are allowed, thankfully. She has been an absolute rock, so cheerfully supportive. I’ve been so lucky.
Beautiful and deeply moving Wendy. I love the seashells and how children remind us to see the light through the darkness. And I’m so sorry to read of Ian’s mother. Sending a big hug from the other side of the pond. Xo
I hadn’t given it a name, but of course the time at my mum’s hospice bedside was a vigil. Just a few weeks earlier, my husband had sat beside his mum in her last hours. There’s also the time - minutes, hours - when our loved one has gone but we stay with their physical body until we feel we can leave, or call a nurse. A post-vigil vigilance around our own feelings and this new reality of loss.
What an incredibly moving piece Wendy, absolutely beautiful. I've never sat vigil but am intrigued by the idea that the person can decide when to 'go' - I think there's something comforting about this.
Thank you so much, Faith. It is a strange thought that someone might choose their moment.
A friend told me after reading that she was pressured by family to be at her father’s bedside and really wished afterwards that she hadn’t agreed, as it wasn’t how she wanted to remember him. It’s such a personal thing.
Yes, it is. I saw my grandad’s body (dad’s dad). My choice to go to the undertaker’s, but it was a shock. I saw my other grandad when he was really ill in hospital before he died (I was 14). I was asked if I wanted to give him a kiss and I couldn’t, but felt bad about it.
Gosh there's such a lot to think about with this - I can see why it was suggested but what a traumatic decision to have to make. A real rite of passage.
So tender and beautiful Wendy. I've been wanting to read this for 2 weeks but life has been rather fraught, as you will have read in my latest post). I love the dialogue, the simplicity of the powerful sentences, and the way you told the story of his last hours - keeping the part of the shells till last. I have yet to sit in vigil for my mother and wasn't able to for my father as he went quickly. So I have that to come. I don't look forward to if if I'm honest, but I do know that it will make a very poignant and tender piece of writing. Hope your mother in law is ok?
Thank you so much Siobhan. I read your latest piece earlier today and goodness me, life gets just too busy sometimes, doesn't it? I do hope you get a bit more time to yourself as this year progresses.
There is an update towards the end of my following piece, Riding the Waves, as Ian's mum died shortly after I wrote this. And sadly it wasn't the only bereavement last week. A tough start to the year. But considering that, I'm doing okay. Reading and writing continue to be very cathartic.
A friend mentioned to me after reading this piece that she felt under pressure to be at her father's bedside when he died and she didn't really want to be, but felt guilty saying no to her siblings. She said she wished she'd trusted her instinct and NOT been at the vigil. She found it traumatic, as by that time he was unconscious anyway and it wasn't the way she wanted to remember him. It shows there's no one "right" way, really and everyone has a different experience.
Thanks Wendy. Sounds like a tough start for you too, sorry to hear that about your MIL and another friend/relative…. I’m finding the sheer number of burdens emotionally tougher than physically, if I’m honest. I’ll be writing about how I deal with this sort of care load another time, as a way of helping others ( i hope). Sharing honestly about what’s going on in our lives is, I believe, the only way we grow and carry each other.
And yes, I’m finding writing to be very cathartic too. So important isnt it?
Very interesting what that friend shared re not wanting to be at the vigil - and so important that she voices that. It certainly shouldn’t be an obligation that people can’t refuse. Everyone is different. But its not something people ever discuss is it? They just assume that’s what everyone will do. Good one to be aware of…. take care Wendy!
This really hit home for me today. My daughter is leaving to say good bye to her grandmother in Kentucky over the weekend. It also reminded me of my sweet moments with my grandma (Memmy) right before she passed away.
Glad it resonated, Rebecca. Thoughts with your daughter and family. It’s sad, but to have the chance to say goodbye can be a privilege and leave a lasting good memory.
So lovely, Wendy. Thank you for sharing this intimate piece of your life. I, too, have sat vigil, many times, especially in my 20s when I lost so many friends to AIDS, but the hardest vigil by far was at my father's bedside in 2011. He was not communicative the last week of his life, and I was his health proxy, doing the things to make his transition as peaceful and painless as possible, administering morphine as the hospice nurse trained me to do. I talked to him, I bathed him, and told him how much I loved him and appreciated all the things he did for me throughout the course of my life. He died quietly in his hospital bed, in his living room the moment I stepped away to tend to something in the kitchen. I was gone for not more than a minute. It was a very hard thing, all of it. Some days I miss him very much. He would have been so happy that I finally started writing, something he always encouraged me to do. xoxo
Thank you, Nan. Thanks for sharing your own experiences, too. Sorry you have had to sit vigil so many times in your life. Those losses to AIDS were so hard.
It really can be a privilege to sit with the dying, though, as it sounds like it was with your father. Isn't it strange how the dying often wait till you've stepped out of the room to choose their moment! I felt very lucky with the way things went with my dad and that it was genuinely as he would have wanted. By contrast, my mum was whisked into hospital and none of us could get there in time. I’m still sad about that.
Ian’s mum is on a peaceful palliative care ward – a comfortable place to sit alongside.
Sending you love, and wishes for Ian's mom's peaceful transition. It was a very sacred experience to be with my father in those last days of his life. And it hurt, and it was a relief to let him go, and see him let go. xo
Wendy,
That was beautiful.
I was thinking today of my own father's death during Covid. I was permitted to visit him one last time and did the day before, but he died alone in the Veteran's Centre the following morning. I so wish I had kidnapped him and brought him home instead!
Thank you, AB. That’s so sad about your dad. My lovely aunt died in her nursing home during the peak of the pandemic. That was such a tough time, wasn’t it? Restrictions had lifted enough by summer of ‘21 that we could get dad home and a number of us could be there, rather than just one person. A few months earlier and it would have been a different story.
Yes, it was a tough time.
My father died in June, 2020 so my too short visit the day before he died involved full PPE. I don't know if he would have known who I was at that point without the mask and shield and gown, but I was pretty sure I looked just like all the rest of the staff at the Centre, so I placed headphones on his ears and started to talk into the microphone.
I talked and talked. About things he loved. My Mom, his grandchildren, me, vacations we took as a family, our dog Peppo. Anything that I thought would release good memories. I'll stop here....
And thanks for triggering another story idea, Wendy. You mentor, you.
I’m glad you were able to find a way to communicate, AB. I’m sure that would have been reassuring for him.
I meant to comment on your very thoughtful piece on assisted dying the other day, but with all that’s been going on it slipped my mind. I will go back to it in the morning and comment.
beautiful Wendy, I read this with a lump in my throat all the way through.
Thanks, Deirdre. I've got a grotty cold today so feel like I shouldn't go into a hospital, so I've been writing this instead.
Yes Wendy, please take care of yourself. It is the hardest thing, when caring for others. :(
Me too Deirdre
After reading your touching piece earlier, Andrea, I know I'm not the only one with bedside vigils on my mind. Thinking of you and your brother and your sister-in-law.
SO sweet of you Wendy. My sister-in-law lives in the New Forest, my husband and his brother (who like us, is in the US, but he is in Michigan) will go back to England when she asks for them. It is beautiful to witness their love! Sending more hugs- we need to stock up, right. xoxo
Your mother wrote about the treasures of Creation, and she cared for the "smaller creatures." Now your granddaughter continues her legacy by lining the foot of the hospital bed for your father with seashells before his passing. What a beautiful image! I wasn't there when my daughter Alix died. But I wish I could have held her hand for the bedside vigil.
Thank you, Julie, for such a thoughtful comment – I'm touched that you refer to my mother's mention of "treasures of Creation".
I'm sorry you weren't there when your daughter Alix died. I know things often don't work out the way we would want and that must have been and must still be really hard for you.
Writing this yesterday and remembering a time when things did go about as well as they could have in my dad's case was cathartic. I was also thinking of other times when things did not go to plan – and of others in that situation.
Just reading this now as soon as it arrived - you've really captured a bit of everything.
I did this too with my mum - just the two of us as my dad had passed the year previous and my brothers were overseas. I was seventeen and the experience has stayed with me my entire life, it changed me. The nurse on duty unhelpfully offered me a cigarette afterwards I will never forget the absurd war-time attitude of that. (I didn't even smoke!) The sea shells by the bed in your own tale is excruciatingly poignant - children don't understand and yet, they do. Truly skillful detailing here, Wendy. I am so sorry for your loss and also for what your partner is currently going through. So hard, all of it.
Thanks so much, Sue.
I decided to publish straight away rather than wait till morning, as the vigil at Ian's mum's bedside is continuing tonight.
It felt a privilege to be with my dad and for it to be so peaceful and as he wanted. It was hard to accomplish, given that we were only partially emerging from the pandemic at the time. My mum's death two months later was different, rushed into hospital and none of us could get there in time. I felt so sad about that. But I'm grateful she too had a long life. It must have been so hard for you, Sue, your parents dying so young.
My granddaughter's presence was wonderful. She brought joy to us all, my father included.
Thank you for writing - it's obviously very brave to re-visit these things.
And there is comfort in knowing that we are all in this together :)
Absolutely, Sue.
Fantastic piece of writing, Wendy. The shells at the end got me!
So sorry for your loss and thoughts with you and your family at the moment, too.
Thanks so much, Andy.
A lovely, thoughtful piece of writing Wendy, my thoughts are with Ian & the family.
In a way one could say my sister & I recently sat vigil watching over our dear mother as she passed away …. From India, connected through WhatsApp video call and my nephew, who was in Vienna at her bedside, holding her hand and the phone in his other hand so we could also be there with her. Technology, at times a wonderful thing!
Thank you, Jane. I'm so glad Becky came down last night.
Yes, technology can be a godsend – that's wonderful to know you were able to connect in that way when your mother died. x
You write like an angel Wendy, not that I've ever met one. But I'd look for them in the kind of sensitivity and observance of life you have in your writing. I've sat in vigil many times and communed in the space as a nurse. I've always thought it was a sacred space, from my first death as a young nurse. He was an elderly gentleman, in a nightingale ward, with curtains drawn. I was with him tending his needs, and had to pop out for something. I was only gone a minute and he was gone when I returned. I felt so sad he left with no farewell.
I was committed to being with my parents to farewell their spirit as they left this world. I am grateful beyond measure this came to pass. My dad died in the evening on a Sunday not long after I returned from a brief break to walk my dog. He waited until we were both on the bed beside him and then he left.
We toasted dad and sat with him for a while, there was no hurry. I then bathed him and anointed his body with essential oils, then Rick tenderly did his last shave. There was no need to call undertakers in the middle of the night, so I stayed with dad, asleep on the floor beside him until dawn. My dog Purusha, who accompanied him in his frailty, remained by his side until he left this house.
Thank you, Lisa for such a beautiful comment and sharing your experiences.
Yes, I think it can be a real privilege to be there when (or just before) someone dies. My own fear of death has somewhat reduced now I've been close to others experiencing it.
Your faithful dog's reaction to your dad! That is so touching. Dogs are often so attuned to what's happening.
A peaceful death is such a blessing. My Dad was very ill, but had not come to terms with the end of his life. It was a very difficult time. I visited with my Dad in the days leading up to his death, but wasn't there for the end. My Mum and brother made it too difficult to stay. I can only hope he knew how much I loved him.
Best wishes to Ian, and all the family.
Thank you, Ofifoto. I’m so sorry you didn’t get to be with your dad at the end. I feel sure he would have known he was loved.
Beautiful and moving, thanks for sharing this Wendy.
My vigil beside my father's bed lasted an hour. I had arrived from Mexico, sent my mother and brother off to eat something, and he went once they were out of the room. A terrible shock for my mother when she returned but he chose the right moment. I told him that it was OK, not to be frightened, to go... and he did.
Thank you, Rosalind. Interesting that your father chose his moment! I really felt that my dad was waiting for my sister.
Oh wow Wendy , such a beautiful piece , I had tears in my eyes. Thank you so much for sharing such a special post. How wonderful you had that conversation with your dad and he died so peacefully surrounded by loved ones. I love the little shells that your granddaughter put in a row. Sorry to hear about Ian’s mum’s vigil, must be so difficult 😞
Thanks, Francis. We weren’t sure how long my dad had and in truth we (my siblings and I) had been panicking a bit about him coming home from hospital without a full care package in place. But it turned out it was the right thing to do and I’m so glad I spent that last night at his bedside.
Ian’s mum is on a peaceful palliative care ward, away from the bustle, and multiple visitors are allowed, thankfully. She has been an absolute rock, so cheerfully supportive. I’ve been so lucky.
Beautiful and deeply moving Wendy. I love the seashells and how children remind us to see the light through the darkness. And I’m so sorry to read of Ian’s mother. Sending a big hug from the other side of the pond. Xo
Thanks, Andrea. Light through the darkness, exactly. Love to you and your own extended family. x
I hadn’t given it a name, but of course the time at my mum’s hospice bedside was a vigil. Just a few weeks earlier, my husband had sat beside his mum in her last hours. There’s also the time - minutes, hours - when our loved one has gone but we stay with their physical body until we feel we can leave, or call a nurse. A post-vigil vigilance around our own feelings and this new reality of loss.
Thanks for sharing your own memories, Andrea. They are such intense times.
Ian's mum died a few hours after I wrote this – peacefully on the palliative care ward at the hospital, family with her.
So glad it was a peaceful passing.
What an incredibly moving piece Wendy, absolutely beautiful. I've never sat vigil but am intrigued by the idea that the person can decide when to 'go' - I think there's something comforting about this.
Thank you so much, Faith. It is a strange thought that someone might choose their moment.
A friend told me after reading that she was pressured by family to be at her father’s bedside and really wished afterwards that she hadn’t agreed, as it wasn’t how she wanted to remember him. It’s such a personal thing.
Incredibly personal. I remember seeing my grandma's body before her funeral and was glad I did at the time, but it was incredibly shocking.
Yes, it is. I saw my grandad’s body (dad’s dad). My choice to go to the undertaker’s, but it was a shock. I saw my other grandad when he was really ill in hospital before he died (I was 14). I was asked if I wanted to give him a kiss and I couldn’t, but felt bad about it.
Gosh there's such a lot to think about with this - I can see why it was suggested but what a traumatic decision to have to make. A real rite of passage.
So tender and beautiful Wendy. I've been wanting to read this for 2 weeks but life has been rather fraught, as you will have read in my latest post). I love the dialogue, the simplicity of the powerful sentences, and the way you told the story of his last hours - keeping the part of the shells till last. I have yet to sit in vigil for my mother and wasn't able to for my father as he went quickly. So I have that to come. I don't look forward to if if I'm honest, but I do know that it will make a very poignant and tender piece of writing. Hope your mother in law is ok?
Thank you so much Siobhan. I read your latest piece earlier today and goodness me, life gets just too busy sometimes, doesn't it? I do hope you get a bit more time to yourself as this year progresses.
There is an update towards the end of my following piece, Riding the Waves, as Ian's mum died shortly after I wrote this. And sadly it wasn't the only bereavement last week. A tough start to the year. But considering that, I'm doing okay. Reading and writing continue to be very cathartic.
A friend mentioned to me after reading this piece that she felt under pressure to be at her father's bedside when he died and she didn't really want to be, but felt guilty saying no to her siblings. She said she wished she'd trusted her instinct and NOT been at the vigil. She found it traumatic, as by that time he was unconscious anyway and it wasn't the way she wanted to remember him. It shows there's no one "right" way, really and everyone has a different experience.
Thanks Wendy. Sounds like a tough start for you too, sorry to hear that about your MIL and another friend/relative…. I’m finding the sheer number of burdens emotionally tougher than physically, if I’m honest. I’ll be writing about how I deal with this sort of care load another time, as a way of helping others ( i hope). Sharing honestly about what’s going on in our lives is, I believe, the only way we grow and carry each other.
And yes, I’m finding writing to be very cathartic too. So important isnt it?
Very interesting what that friend shared re not wanting to be at the vigil - and so important that she voices that. It certainly shouldn’t be an obligation that people can’t refuse. Everyone is different. But its not something people ever discuss is it? They just assume that’s what everyone will do. Good one to be aware of…. take care Wendy!
This really hit home for me today. My daughter is leaving to say good bye to her grandmother in Kentucky over the weekend. It also reminded me of my sweet moments with my grandma (Memmy) right before she passed away.
Glad it resonated, Rebecca. Thoughts with your daughter and family. It’s sad, but to have the chance to say goodbye can be a privilege and leave a lasting good memory.