If I could go back and talk to the version of me who was 24, caring
for my dad, and terrified of every decision — here’s what I’d tell
her.
Throw them a party for nothing. Put the Christmas tree up in October
if that’s what they want to see. Decorate the lawn in flamingos, just
because it’ll make them smile. Give them the beer. Give them the
smoke. Give them the morphine the moment they ask for it, not an hour
later, not after you’ve called someone to double-check, not after
you’ve talked yourself out of it because you’re scared. Yes. Yes. Yes.
If there’s someone they don’t want to see, tell that person to stay
away. Full stop. This isn’t the time to manage anyone else’s feelings
or keep the peace for the sake of appearances. This is not about
making family, friends, or anyone else comfortable or happy. This is
the patient’s time. Their time, on their terms, completely.
Let them have full control. Of the food. Of the drinks. Of the
television. Of day trips, if they’re able. Take them to see Christmas
lights, even if it’s July, even if it makes no sense to anyone else.
Let them do whatever they can still do and want to do — not what a
doctor thinks is best for optics, not what family thinks looks
appropriate, not what makes anyone else feel more at ease with what’s
happening.
I didn’t fully understand this with my dad. I was young, I was scared,
and I followed rules and labels and other people’s caution instead of
trusting that his wishes, in his final days, outweighed everything
else. I know better now. I learned it the hardest way there is to
learn something.
So if you’re caregiving for someone right now, and they ask for
something that feels small or strange or “not good for them” at this
stage — say yes. The rules that mattered before don’t matter anymore.
What matters is that the person in front of you gets exactly what they
want, for however much time they have left.
Say yes. Every time you can. You won’t regret the yeses. You’ll only
ever regret the no’s.
— by Fran Dooley
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