How do you let someone know it's okay to let go?

Good Lord, that is exactly the state my father and my family were in on December 22nd, 2002! As we realized that if he lived, his quality of life would be nonexistent, it became easier for each one of us to tell him it was okay. I know my Mom sat by his bed and said those words and I know it had to be the hardest thing she ever did.
cak, I am sending you strength and courage for all your battles.

He sounds like a very determined type of guy (this is the same exact situation I had go on with my father-in-law)...If he wants to fight, then he will fight and if he’s ready to give up then he’ll give up. Just make sure you let him know that you love him each and every time you see him. My thoughts and prayers go out to you CAK…

Oh, that is such a tough one, cak. That is what we faced with my mother in March. My heart goes out to you. Courage, girl.

When my mother-in-law reached a point of no return, I heard my husband’s brother make his response to the question. She was having a brief moment of semi-lucidity, enough to ask, “What should I do?” My brother-in-law spoke in his usual offhand way, but with a real undertone of warmth, and said, “This is one you can’t win, Mom. You’re a fighter, and you’ve won a lot of them, but you can’t win this one. Best just to let it go.”

It just sounded and felt right when he said it, and she seemed to understand. She nodded. A few days later, she slipped away.

In my mother’s case, she held on for three years, with so many different kinds of conditions that I couldn’t even enumerate them, and we all fought along with her. She was constantly in and out of hospitals and rehab, exhausting herself and everyone else in a struggle that wore down resources of every kind, from morale and spirit to savings. In the end, when she faced either a devastating surgery or a fast-moving case of gangrene that was about to eat her up while she lay unconscious and hooked up to several kinds of life-support machines, there was no question but that it was time to let go. Even then—even then.

I am truly very sorry your father, you and your family are going through this. I think on this one, I just don’t have the life experience to offer any sort of wisdom or advice, but I will say I will keep you in my thoughts. And if you would like, I’ll ask my family to pray for you.

Your question touched me, my mother is undergoing treatment for cancer and it recently spread. A lot of the same thoughts have been running through my head, we’re not at the same point but I understand.

I wish you all the best of luck.

@asmonet, thank you for the offer, and yes, prayers are welcome.

I will keep your mother and your family in my thoughts. I am dealing with cancer, as well. I just started chemo, again. It’s all a bit too overwhelming right now.

Thank you.

@Soapchef, googlybear and Jeruba. Thank you for sharing your experiences, those are such personal moments. We want the best for him, right now, this isn’t the best. We’ll get through tomorrow and eventually see what direction he wants to take. Every time I see him, (we all see him) we remind him how much we love him.

It all happened so fast, just as my mom was getting ready to call me, I called the house, to wish him a happy birthday – that’s how I found out. We always have a family party on Christmas Eve. The kids open their presents, my dad and I joke around, but not this year. We spent it waiting to hear how bad of a stroke it was. My dad truly looks forward to his birthday. I just want the calendar and clock to rewind, back to the 23rd.

Speak your heart and all will be right. It may be the toughest thing you ever do, and it may reflect the grief you are already feeling (even if he pulls through, he will be a changed man), but it is vital that you express yourself honestly and completely.

As a doctor, I’ve been involved in a many of these situations, and I can tell you that all are traumatic. Yet I find that close-knit families that are able to rally around their loved ones and express their emotions and thoughts directly seem to weather the storm the best.

If you feel up to it, you can say “I love you for always being there for me, and am sad that this has happened. How much you understand I don’t know, but know that I am here for you, and only want what you want. As devastated as I am at the thought of losing you, I don’t want you to suffer, so, if you feel ready to go, I support you with all my heart.”

My thoughts are with you. Best wishes.

@shilolo – thank you. That expresses everything that we are feeling.

What an unselfish, but totally necessary sentiment. When people die, I always wonder if someone said,“It’s OK, you may go now.” it sounds arrogant in a sense, but when someone is so fragile and fighting with everything, I believe it would be comforting to realize that my loved ones would really be alright.

I’m very sorry for your suffering. I have been a hospice nurse for several years and in most cases the best thing you can do is give your loved one permission to go guilt free. As in “don’t worry about me, I’ll be fine, you can go to God now.” The more family members who can say it, the better. Even if that loved one isn’t quite ready to go yet the act of giving permission adds a sense of calm and peace. You are on the right track and I hope you and your family find peace.

For once, I’m at a loss for words…so I’m sending all of you good thoughts and hugs instead.

<hugs>

@gimmedat, cherryberry, augustlan & loser, thank you for the hugs and kind comments.

Gimmedat, we learned, after watching a loved die from ALS, just to let them go and to share your love with them, but I swear, there is a pain that is just indescribable that goes along with it.

Goodbye takes courage. You have that, cak.
Love and courage.

I am deeply moved by your question, cak, and all the answers.

If I were your father… I would want to feel deeply loved. I would want to know that I was still wanted back, even as a changed man, if I was going to fight. And I most certainly would want to know that my family will be completely ok without me, and that I have their blessing if I needed to let go. I wouldn’t want to bear the pain alone. And I’d want to know that all is still well, despite appearances. If I had faith, I’d want to be reminded of it.

My heart goes out to you and your father. I pray that this time deeply blesses your life, for the rest of your life.

@cak: We just went through this with my dad in October. Cancer got the best of him after eighteen months.

A week before he died, he called a family meeting and spoke to us one at a time. He had decided to “stop fighting”.

Everyone apparently cried uncontrollably and begged him not to leave – to keep fighting.

Not knowing this, I went in last and said: “If there was ever a time to listen to yourself, now would be it. I’ll be fine because you taught me how to take care of myself, but this, right here is about you. There’s no shame in letting go.

He leaned in and whispered, “I knew you wouldn’t bullshit me.”

Our whole lives, we compromise and sacrifice for our family and friends – that is the nature of love – but ultimately the care of your soul lies with you.

Your dad needs to know that you understand that. And wherever he finds himself after death, he needs to go there with a light heart knowing he taught you well.

I am horribly saddened that you must endure this. I will tell you – this will change you. Whether it’s a positive or negative change will depend greatly on what you choose to give back to your father by letting go.

Best of luck.

Oh cak, I’m so sorry for the pain all of you are going through. Everyone has offered such beautiful words above, there’s not much left to say. susanc is right, you have courage and strength. Even when he’s gone, you’ll still be your fathers daughter, tell him that. If he’s ready to go, tell him everything you’re feeling and part ways with no regrets of words unsaid. I’ve often said that my Dad dying so quickly was a blessing, but I would also give anything for 10 more minutes with him. You’ll know what to say, and you’ll be stronger than you ever thought you could be.
I wish you courage, I send you prayers, I’m sorry for your pain.

@ susanc, Trustinglife, cprevite & bythebay – thank you.

@cprevite, that is the kind of relationship my father and I have. We know that if we go to each other, it’s going to be honest and may or may not be the popular opinion, but we’re straight with each other. The day that I started to realize that we may need to start considering other options, it was in his eyes. Daily, he’s worsened. I’m glad that you had the strength to be able to say it – I’m afraid that later today, I’ll be to afraid. My husband reminded me that he’s always promised to do the same for me, now it’s my turn to hold up my end of the deal.

He’s resting and peaceful, right now. He had two more tests this morning, but they don’t expect any changes. He’s not saying anything, so far, today. Not one word. All those times, when you are a kid, you think your parents yammer on too much, now, one word would be golden.

Thank you everyone, for the support and help.

Tell him you love him. That it’s okay to let go. It is hard, and painful, but it may be what he wants and/or needs to hear.
This is so hard. I wish you strength as you to down this very difficult road.

@bookwoman626 – thank you. :)

cak, I’m thinking hard about you today. Not going to try any “golden words” either,
because you’re busy. But – you’re not alone, I promise you that. Not for a minute.
This is a holy time. You know our hearts are with you.

@susanc, thank you. :)

I don’t know how, but we all made it through talking to him. Outside of explaining to my son that he was going to start chemotherapy, the same thing mommy was doing, this was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Looking at my dad and telling him how much I love him and that I loved him for trusting me enough to give me room to grow up, make decisions and to let me fail. I think the later was the single most important lesson, because it also taught me how to succeed. We all said many other things, but it’s far too personal to share.

Before everyone got there, I trimmed his hair, that is his only hang-up, sloppy hair. I clipped his fingernails and washed his face. I sat talking to him and remembering all the times when I thought I’d die from embarrassment from some of the things that he did while I was growing up. How many times, as a child do we try to disown our parents for being dorks?

Thank you all, again, for allowing me to talk this through and thank you for the wonderful advice. You’ll never know how much I truly appreciate it.

No, thank you cak for sharing your life lessons with us. I wish you peace.

Ditto. I feel honored that you let us in, cak, in this most intimate, raw time.
Thank you.

My father died Saturday, late afternoon. He truly was a great man and my hero.

Aww cak – I am so sorry for your loss. That truly sucks.

I hope you had the opportunity to tell him everything you wanted to.

Oh, cak. My deepest sympathies. Hugs to you and your family.

I’m sorry. My family is keeping you in their prayers.

I’m so sorry for your loss, cak, and so very sorry for your pain.

@Cak, my sympathy. I am sure that having a chance to say to him what was on your heart both eased his passing and gives you comfort.