Often times it is not simply that a loved one died, but also how they died that matters to us so much and continues to affect us long after they are gone. Your parent’s last moments in life can greatly affect your grief and how you grieve.

Their death may have been sudden. A physical accident. A car crash. Maybe there was a medical emergency. Maybe you or someone else had to call 911.

Or you watched them suffer through a long, debilitating illness. Part of your grief comes from having to watch them slowly fade away.

Perhaps your parent suddenly developed a quick and furious sickness, that tore through and took their life, leaving loved ones reeling and confused after the whirlwind.

It’s been 3 years since I lost my mother, and I have been brooding about how she died and her last moments on this earth.

Were you there when your parent died? Did they know you? If they didn’t know you, how did that feel?

I often wonder if my mother was afraid when she was dying, if she was surprised to realize it was the end, that she wasn’t going to be okay, or possibly she felt some profound relief in finally letting go at last.

Did your parent die in a hospital, at home, or elsewhere? Did you hold their hand as they took their last breath? Were you the one to find their body?

My mom was only 70 when she died. I wish she could have gone in her sleep, at a very advanced age, after a long, full life. Instead she lost her husband to an unexpected heart attack, and spent the next year deeply grieving. She stopped eating. She wasted away. She pulled away from life because she could not imagine a life without him. She became frail, and looked as if she would break if I hugged her too hard.

She fell and hit her head badly on the corner of her heavy, lacquered wood coffee table. She stumbled to her dining room, where she held the back of a wooden chair and leaned over it trying to stand. She made her way to the bedroom, where she fell to the floor and eventually died, sometime between July 29th and August 1st.

I so often wonder how long it took her to die. I replay it in my mind. I trace her steps, and it haunts me. She was alone. Was she aware that she was dying? How much pain did she feel? What was she thinking about as she lay on the floor? Did she try to get up to reach the phone?

The cleaning company that came after so thoroughly scoured her blood off the furniture that they removed the finish where the blood had dried. I pressed my palms into the corner of the coffee table where the wood was bare and no longer shiny. I held the finials on the back of the wooden chair she had clutched in her pain while trying to stand. The cleaners couldn’t get all of the blood out of the carpet, and the smell of death hung in the house for days.

I didn’t get to see her body. Given the circumstances, I think this may have been for the best. She didn’t have a good death. Seeing my beautiful mother so destroyed likely would have destroyed me too.

But what exactly is a good death? We are not ordering a sandwich. Typically there are no options in death. We do not get to choose. I can be a control freak in life all I want, but death had the final say in how my mother’s life ended.

It breaks my heart that she died alone, potentially in so much pain and afraid. I replay her final moments often, and it affects my grief so deeply, filling me with guilt and regret. What if I had called her earlier that day? Could I have prevented her death?

In my twenties I was given the career advice of “nothing is irrevocable” when I was worried about a decision at the time. But death is irrevocable. It is final. We can wish and wonder about going back and somehow changing our parent’s final moments to keep them here with us, but those thoughts are futile and heartbreaking.

My brother said he was glad the sadness is over. When I brought up our mom’s last moments, he said he didn’t care about the details because she is happy now and no longer hurting.

I suppose everyone holds their grief differently. Maybe I tend to obsess or to wallow, or I’m just not ready to let her go so easily. I care very much about those unknown details of her last moments because she died alone. I want to know. I want to witness it and hold space for her pain. I want to be there for her in this way, because I couldn’t be there to hold her hand, to say goodbye, or to tell her I love her one last time before she died.

Maybe you can let go of these final moments as my brother did, or maybe they affect and change how you grieve still. I’m not sure if it is better to know your parent is about to die. Either way it hurts, a sudden shock or a slow, painful decline. In a way my mother had both, which makes me feel extra cheated and angry. If a parent’s death was a sudden shock, out of the blue, you don’t have time to anticipate it, to prepare even in the smallest way, and can spend months or even years processing the loss. Someday I will perhaps move on, let go of obsessing over her last moments, and remember her with only happiness. But not just yet.

How did your parent die? Do the details and the manner of their death replay in your mind, or were you able to move on more easily? Let me and other grievers know by adding a comment below.