Tuesday I Waved Goodbye, Wednesday He Died
‘You’re all just too good for me’, he said.
Mr. G. was a witty man. Always neatly dressed. White combed hair. Wearing blouses and by far the most beautiful shoes on the 3rd floor.
He was a big fan of stophoest. A specific type of candy. My colleagues and I kept rolls for him. When the roll finished, he received a new one.
Sometimes he’d look at me and ‘secretly’ give a candy.
We met around three weeks ago. He lived on the 3rd floor: the floor of the residential house where I work. During the time he lived there, I was there to relax with him, keep an eye so that he doesn’t fall, and reassure him that his watch wasn’t stolen but broken.
Mr. G.— 91 years old he was — regularly asked if he could go to his grandparent's birthday. He’d point in the direction of one of the walls, saying it’s really close by and otherwise the guests will leave. If he doesn’t go now, he will be late.
It doesn’t need a lot of calculation to know that that was unfortunately not possible.
Often, he had questions that will never be answered.
Last week, he started to eat less and less. And less.
A 91-year-old who’s already mostly just skin and bones doesn’t have a lot of extras to trade-off.
It’s surprising how strong a body’s resistance can be to eating when it seems that energy intake is one of the few things that could help him regain strength. I know, my previous post is about the effect of the human touch, but solely on human touch, we can’t live.
Saturday night, my colleague was helping him with dinner. Doing all she can to get him to eat a tiny bite to regain strength. Sometimes a bite was accepted, but often not swallowed. Again, he didn’t feel like eating, he said.
I sat across the table, helping another resident with his food. The table was filled with invisible patience, hoping that Mr. G. would perhaps eat something.
At some point, he made clear he wouldn’t eat anymore. He wanted to go to his room. My colleague helped him to get up.
A bit upset, he said, ‘you’re all just too good to me’. It was so touching. Those are the last words I have heard him say.
When I came home from work, I told my partner I was wondering what state he’d be in the next time I’ll see him. He was declining so fast.
A few days later, on Tuesday, I arrived at work. Mr. G. was officially terminally ill. Laying in bed with his family by his side. He was breathing deeply.
The only thing left to do was to make him feel as comfortable as possible.
That day, I spent the last half hour of my day with Mr. G. and his family, together with one colleague. I’m always impressed with how good my colleague is at her job and with these relationships. It was so intimate. I’m grateful they let me into their lives.
They told more about what he was like and how he was the womanizer of the residential care centers he lived in.
They told about how he often ‘lost his wallet’, only to let the family shortly after discover that he himself put it in the clock. Or in a drawer.
And they told about how he could tell stories about playing soccer at PSV. He indeed could talk about this every day. At least on the days that he felt well.
I know I only knew Mr. G. for three weeks. But spending time with him in his home environment, holding his old wrinkled hands, hearing about how he grew up, and reassuring him that everything is okay — creates a bond quickly.
When I went home, I waved goodbye to him and his family.
Never before have I witnessed someone dying.
Mr. G. passed away Wednesday evening, at 9 PM.
Since then, when I have something tiny on my mind, I think of him. I remind myself that all is well. When we’re dying, we’re not thinking about ‘problems’ that are not even real problems.
With those problems, I mean the pimple on our chin, the fact that our favorite cookies were sold out, or that our recent story didn’t have as many responses as the previous one.
It helps me to look at the grand scheme of things. The bigger picture. To pay attention to my mental health and people close to me, to stay curious and care about what’s happening in the world, and to focus on experiencing joy and fulfillment.
A few more words come to mind that I like to share with you. Be as kind to yourself as you are to others. You’re perfect as you are. Feel good in your body. Take care of your brain health. Live your life. Be at ease. Share with others. Your family, friends, and strangers.
This is a kind reminder to myself to do the same.
Writing you with love.
Thank you so much for reading. Looking forward to hearing your thoughts. Have a wonderful day.
Here I like to give a shout-out to Sara Burdick. She’s a great writer. I love her writings. She combines life lessons with humor and her adventures in Colombia. This is one of her stories that resonated a lot. I want to tell what it is about, but I feel I don’t do it justice. The title tells enough :)
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