This account was shared with the Final Words Project by Jane Popkin about the last days and utterances of her father Morris London and her mother Pessy London.
Jane's account includes many elements common to the language of the threshold: premonitions of dying, emergence of gibberish, a deepening tranquility and peace, and synchronicities and visions connected to those who have died before us.
"My father was 93 and lived in a nursing home.
He was very alert and oriented and suffered from end-stage congestive heart failure; he loved to talk to people all his life and was a favorite of all the staff. The month before he died, he told me that he was dreaming that my mother was sleeping in his bed next to him. (He slept in the lift chair where he could breathe more easily.)
My mother died in the same nursing home eight years earlier. He had never told me he dreamed of her before and seemed surprised how real it felt to him. The Wednesday before he died, I was visiting him, and he told me "I saw your mother sitting on the bed"--not I dreamed of your mother.
I said, 'Did this feel real to you?'
He said, 'Yes.'
That next morning I received a call from the staff that he had slipped out of his lift chair and I should come in. When I got there, he was sitting up in his wheelchair, and did not have is glasses on, he was awake and had his eyes closed. I asked him if he was okay. He said ,'Yes.'
I asked him why he had his eyes closed.
He said,' I am comfortable.'
I told him that my brother who lived out of town was planning on visiting.
He asked, 'When?’
I told him, 'In a few weeks, dad.'
He said, 'I can’t wait that long. I will not make it until then.'
I went up to the nurses’ station where the nurse had been in to see him. The nurse said, 'I think there are changes happening now.' And I agreed.
We immediately called in hospice for him. Later that day, a nurse’s aide who sat at his table for breakfast said that my dad would not eat breakfast that morning, and she asked him why and he said, 'I am dying.'
The rest of the day he slept. That night he woke up and our family was there, his speech pattern changed, and he did not seem confused--just his words were different. (I wish now I had taped him!)
There was no change in medication yet, no morphine given.I spent the night in his room by his side. He started talking in his sleep, really sounded like gibberish. I could not understand a word.
He had never done this--and he was gesturing with his hands like I have never seen him do! My dad was the youngest of 11 siblings and all of them had died before him. They all liked to talk and at family get-togethers. It was hard for anyone to get a word in!
I kept thinking that I felt like he was talking to his siblings, just how animated he was in his sleep! That was Thursday night, and the next morning he was given morphine since his breathing significantly worsened and he slept after that and never spoke or woke back up until he died early Monday morning.
His death was peaceful and he was ready. The staff told me he told them he was ready, but he knew it would be hard on me. I was by his side until he died, and I kept telling him I was ready for him to go--and I would be okay. As an aside, early Monday morning before he died, I was the only person in the room.
I kissed him good night, his breathing was very slow and irregular, but I knew he would not die when i was watching him. I lay down on the cot near his bed and fell asleep, a few minutes later something woke me up. I do not know what, but when I looked at my dad he was no longer breathing.
Eight years earlier, I was at my mom’s bedside the same way in the same nursing home at the same time of the night. She was also not responsive by that point. I also kissed her goodnight and fell asleep and a few minutes later a nurse woke me up to tell me she had passed. My mom had a stroke and could not speak the last few days of her life. The only words she said were, 'I want to go home. I want my mama.'"
References to going home emerge frequently in the accounts as do references to our mothers and fathers. Synchronicities such as the one Jane shares here are also common--especially connected to anniversary days, times of day, and locations.
Jane's account includes many elements common to the language of the threshold: premonitions of dying, emergence of gibberish, a deepening tranquility and peace, and synchronicities and visions connected to those who have died before us.
"My father was 93 and lived in a nursing home.
He was very alert and oriented and suffered from end-stage congestive heart failure; he loved to talk to people all his life and was a favorite of all the staff. The month before he died, he told me that he was dreaming that my mother was sleeping in his bed next to him. (He slept in the lift chair where he could breathe more easily.)
My mother died in the same nursing home eight years earlier. He had never told me he dreamed of her before and seemed surprised how real it felt to him. The Wednesday before he died, I was visiting him, and he told me "I saw your mother sitting on the bed"--not I dreamed of your mother.
I said, 'Did this feel real to you?'
He said, 'Yes.'
That next morning I received a call from the staff that he had slipped out of his lift chair and I should come in. When I got there, he was sitting up in his wheelchair, and did not have is glasses on, he was awake and had his eyes closed. I asked him if he was okay. He said ,'Yes.'
I asked him why he had his eyes closed.
He said,' I am comfortable.'
I told him that my brother who lived out of town was planning on visiting.
He asked, 'When?’
I told him, 'In a few weeks, dad.'
He said, 'I can’t wait that long. I will not make it until then.'
I went up to the nurses’ station where the nurse had been in to see him. The nurse said, 'I think there are changes happening now.' And I agreed.
We immediately called in hospice for him. Later that day, a nurse’s aide who sat at his table for breakfast said that my dad would not eat breakfast that morning, and she asked him why and he said, 'I am dying.'
The rest of the day he slept. That night he woke up and our family was there, his speech pattern changed, and he did not seem confused--just his words were different. (I wish now I had taped him!)
There was no change in medication yet, no morphine given.I spent the night in his room by his side. He started talking in his sleep, really sounded like gibberish. I could not understand a word.
He had never done this--and he was gesturing with his hands like I have never seen him do! My dad was the youngest of 11 siblings and all of them had died before him. They all liked to talk and at family get-togethers. It was hard for anyone to get a word in!
I kept thinking that I felt like he was talking to his siblings, just how animated he was in his sleep! That was Thursday night, and the next morning he was given morphine since his breathing significantly worsened and he slept after that and never spoke or woke back up until he died early Monday morning.
His death was peaceful and he was ready. The staff told me he told them he was ready, but he knew it would be hard on me. I was by his side until he died, and I kept telling him I was ready for him to go--and I would be okay. As an aside, early Monday morning before he died, I was the only person in the room.
I kissed him good night, his breathing was very slow and irregular, but I knew he would not die when i was watching him. I lay down on the cot near his bed and fell asleep, a few minutes later something woke me up. I do not know what, but when I looked at my dad he was no longer breathing.
Eight years earlier, I was at my mom’s bedside the same way in the same nursing home at the same time of the night. She was also not responsive by that point. I also kissed her goodnight and fell asleep and a few minutes later a nurse woke me up to tell me she had passed. My mom had a stroke and could not speak the last few days of her life. The only words she said were, 'I want to go home. I want my mama.'"
References to going home emerge frequently in the accounts as do references to our mothers and fathers. Synchronicities such as the one Jane shares here are also common--especially connected to anniversary days, times of day, and locations.
RSS Feed