Oh I'm sure it will help/has helped someone.

You did what you could - you made sure he heard the info he wasn't hearing anywhere else, anyway! And no shame on him for not being able to accept it or look deeper into it. We're bombarded today with the belief that we must trust doctors. That they know what they're doing. That it's not mostly guesswork and placebo and hoping you don't sue. But as you know the medical model is severely unhealthy to say the least. You gave him the info, things happened the way they did, nobody is to blame and there's no guilt or shame to be passed around. You did well.

3 years ago, after a lonely Christmas with just her and I sharing some food while my drunken brother slept in his vomit downstairs, Grama fell in the kitchen one morning and broke her hip. I heard and came running, assessed her and helped her into a chair, and then called paramedics. The next evening, she had moved from the ER to a medical unit, in preparation for hip surgery. My brother and I ran errands in the afternoon, then brought her A&W fries and rootbeer, her favourite. She wasn't super hungry but enjoyed some of it, and was very thankful. We had bought her a cell phone and plan, so she could talk to the family (who had decided not to come to town until after surgery and discharge from hospital). Strangely, she didn't want to talk to her children. But she spoke with several of her other grandchildren (I was 1st of 10).

Visiting hours ended, and the nurses wanted us out. My brother was itching to get home and drink. After saying goodnight and telling her I'd return first thing in the morning to be around while she was in surgery, we left the room and started to walk out of the surgical ward.

As I fairly often did, I turned around and ran back to her for one more goodbye. I still remember her face brightening up when I re-appeared. Get out of here, she scolded, and I gave her several kisses and a warm hug. Her soft, weak body in my arms felt strange, but her scent and aura and everything else was familiar. She was safety for me. Having her alive kept something between me and the ugly vastness.

"I love you Grama."

"I love you too. Your brother's waiting, and Katie's at home, go. See you in the morning."

I turned and saw her smiling as I left the room. I don't like thinking of her there, in her death bed, but I do like to remember that smile. Maybe she knew, maybe she didn't, but she sent me off with as much love and happiness as she could.

They called me as I made home to her house from the hospital, saying she was gone when they next went in. Since there was a DNR order, they just made her comfortable and let her go. 

We returned, as I felt it was important for me to see her dead body. I don't regret it, though I'm not sure it helped all that much either. She definitely wasn't there, when I got back. Relaxed, I guess, and looking mostly normal. But the person wasn't there. Without her there, there just wasn't much to see or do. I hugged her again, told her I loved her again, told her everything was okay.

My nightmare was just beginning. Not because of grief - I haven't really done much of that yet. Because of family betrayal, homelessness, illness, more homelessness, abuse by people pretending to help, and antidepressant addiction. Would you believe my brother, using Grama's cash, went on a cocaine bender all night and into the next day? It wasn't just that she died. That was expected to happen. It was everything that happened surrounding her death, the way my family acted, the way they don't carry on her beliefs or dreams, they way they didn't dig up her favourite lilies when they sold the house to be demolished, the way they just clearly didn't love her unconditionally, they way she loved us.

You're so right, death of a close loved one shows us how precious the time in this life is. We know it already, it's just math, most of us can grasp that life is limited. But seeing it and feeling it, you're suddenly "getting it" better than you ever got it before. There's a tendency for me to recoil in fear from that realization, but I'm a big fan of finding out how things actually are and dealing with reality, rather than persisting in a comfortable delusion. I faced all my darkest nightmares in the 6-8 months after her death. I wouldn't let myself turn away for false comfort. I let the darkness in, and I'm still struggling with it.

Thanks for being there for your dad. I imagine that he appreciated that.