True Story: I Helped My Friend Die Peacefully

How did you feel when you found out?

It was a shock. Although he was a smoker, and 79 years old at the time, JW had always been diligent about getting his regular chest x-rays, check-ups, that sort of thing. In fact, his chest x-ray from just a few months back had been negative.

When I found out he had a terminal diagnosis, I didn’t fall apart. As I often do, I went into survival mode… searching the Internet for answers… for a fix… for something to make this go away!

What happened next?

JW decided not to undergo chemotherapy or radiation.

In a sense, he voluntarily chose to end his life — on his own terms — instead of trying to “extend” it just a bit longer or hope for a medical-miracle-recovery. He wanted the end of his life to be joyful and peaceful, not filled with hospital visits and chemicals that he believed would degrade his quality of life.

That was his choice and I supported him.

So you helped your friend move towards the end of his life, peacefully?

Yes. Though, at first, I didn’t think of it that way. JW was at peace with the notion of death (or “making his transition” as he called it,) but I wasn’t OK with losing my friend just yet. I wanted him to live.

I encouraged JW to try natural healing methods — including working remotely with a botanist in Malaysia — and treating his cancer with natural food, exercise and a healthier lifestyle. He was open to all of it. It was amazing to see him transition from being a “meat ‘n potatoes” guy into a juice-drinking, salad-eating vegetarian.

The healthy food and lifestyle — combined with his positive attitude — allowed him to really enjoy the final year or so of his life, instead of enduring the pain and suffering that he associated with conventional treatment.

To JW, that was a gift.

When did you know it was getting closer to “the end”?

A little over a year after JW’s diagnosis, he started to have back pain. Diagnostic tests revealed that the cancer had metastasized to his bones.

It was mostly downhill from there. I was his primary caregiver at the time, preparing his meals, attending to all of his basic needs. I could see him looking strong on certain days, and I’d feel so hopeful — “Maybe he’s going to recover after all!” But I’d also see him growing weaker.

Were you with him at the very end?

Yes. The night before he died we enjoyed some long, long talks about life — sprinkled with humor, laughter and hugs.

The next morning, after I woke up, I went in to check on him. As if he sensed my presence, he opened his eyes. At that moment, we both simultaneously said the exact same words to each other: “That was a wonderful night!”

Then he tilted his head back and seemed to go “somewhere” — as if his spirit left his body.

Those words — “That was a wonderful night!” — were the last words that I heard him speak.

(The fact that we both had spoken them together — in unison — was incredibly beautiful.)

About 10 hours later, he died.

How did you feel when he finally passed on?

At first, I actually felt relief. Now, he could fully rest in peace. I was grateful I had gotten to be there with him — providing the beautiful, dignified setting that he wanted and deserved.

But after that first rush of relief came a different emotion: total grief.

Some small, childlike part of me felt rejected, abandoned, betrayed. Even though I’d been with him through his entire cancer experience — helping him to live comfortably, and also, helping him to die in his own way — we had never really said “goodbye” to one another. We talked about lots of things — all kinds of things — but we never exchanged that one word: “goodbye.”

I felt like I’d been “stripped” of my “right” to say goodbye to my best friend in the way that I wanted to say it. For a long time, I agonized over this.

What did you learn from this entire experience?

I witnessed the importance of trusting ourselves — when a choice that we want to make feels undeniably right. My friend was given “six months to live” if he chose to forgo chemo. He lived beautifully, and comfortably, for double that time. No chemo.

Because of JW’s choices, he was able to die in his own way — in the comfort of home, with his best friend (and another close friend who had stopped by) right by his side — instead of in a hospital. JW’s way of dealing with a terminal cancer diagnosis may not be the right choice for everyone, but it was his choice, and for him? I believe it was the right one.

I also got to experience being a caregiver for someone who is terminally-ill as a privilege, not a burden. Ushering someone into the next chapter of life — or after-life, however you want to think about it — is an unforgettable experience.

And… I also got to experience how important it is to take exceptionally good care of yourself, in order to be an effective and patient caregiver. Letting self-care “slip” is not an option. (My experiences with being a caregiver for JW have inspired several projects for me, including this guidebook for caregivers.)

Above all:

The greatest lesson I learned from JW’s death is that we never really have to say “goodbye” to those we love.

Years after JW passed away, while I was writing in my journal, I asked my departed friend, for the millionth time,

“Why didn’t you say goodbye? Why didn’t you let me say goodbye?”

Without thinking, I wrote down the following words:

“There are no goodbyes, there is only forever.”

I truly feel that JW was guiding my hand and my pen, in that moment. His body may no longer be here, laughing and joking with me, or hosting a radio program with me, but the imprint he left on my life is permanent and undeniable. Nothing, not even death, can take that away.

Our friendship is “forever.

”Thank you so much for sharing your and JW’s story, Suzanne. Do you guys have any questions for her?

Two other perspectives: I was diagnosed with ovarian cancer at 30 and I’m chronically ill