Death stories?

One of my first deaths was beautiful and moving. She was a 75 y/o hispanic woman who had ESRD, 11 kids (6 boys, 5 girls), all married with kids of their own. This lady lived in run-down 1.0K sqft home. All of her kids were there, including their spouses and their kids - about 75-80 people in this house, spilling out to the front, side and backyards.

For breakfast, she asked for her usual cream of wheat and coffee - attempted to feed her with a spoon - no go, attempted to place a small amt on her tongue with a syringe - no go. She said in Spanish, "Leave me in peace, leave me in peace." Even in her condition, SHE was in CHARGE of her family!

This wonderful lady passed away about 3 hours later. At the moment she drew her last breath, it appeared that she called to everyone outside and inside the house to her bedroom. There were many hugs and many tears.

I explained our procedures, i.e., bathing/post mortem care, phone calls to the ME, physician, funeral home, etc. and invited her children and others to participate at whatever comfort level they desired. The daughters immediately came forward and stated that they would bath her themselves. They placed a clean down and some catholic regalia on her.

I then explained the process when the funeral home arrived and encouraged those that desired to leave the house when the cot was brought in. The sons came forward and stated they would place her on the funeral home cot.

After this was done, the children lined up single-file behind the cot and followed her outside to the service car.

This was love in its' purest, most unconditional form. I had to make a quick exit from the house after the FH left, and had to stop a few times on my way home to compose myself.

I work prn in cont. care hospice. Yesterday I was taking care of a man that hadn't moved in 2 days. Seconds before he passed, he slowly began to move his right arm up. I called for his wife to come into the room, and as she did, he waved. He died right after. Later, as I cleaned him up, I noticed his right pointer finger was curled. (The man had been an avid sharp shooter--professionally, I believe.) I again called for his wife to see. She was so tickled at the "gifts" he left for her and knew he was "home"!

My favorite memory is about a young woman (approx. 30) with a young daughter. The SW and I had done LOTS of teaching quickly b/c the pt was not referred for admit until she had began the dying process.

The morning Sheila died, her daughter met me at the door very excited telling me that the angels had come to get her mommy. There is NO DOUBT IN MY MIND that this child saw angels.

That was 5 or 6 years ago and I still get goose chills when I think about it!

My grandpa was Jewish and very ashamed of it. He changed his name from Heimel Epstein so he could get a job in Chicago. The night before he died I was in the hospital room with him. I said a prayer over him "Dear Jesus, please be with my Grandpa, hold him tight, let him know how much you love him and be his peace and comfort." When I finished praying he asked me, "Do you think He heard you??". I told him that I knew Jesus had heard me. My dad was with him when he died the next day. He said that he went peacefully and smiled. I know Jesus took him home and I know that God would move Heaven and hell to let my Grandpa know that he was loved.

I need to share this one...This Saturday i was called to home for a patient in distress. I am a home hospice nurses aide...pt was 89,end stage lymphoma and was suffering from a bad case of terminal anxiety. tried ativan,seemed to make it worse.....the nurse on call suggested haladol,but then it hit me...he was having some pain and he couldnt let us know so I got the ok for morphine sulphate...bingo...he settled right down . OnSunday I went back and he was well into his journey home. I was finishing up his bath, he opened up his eyes,took my hand and said Thank you..as clear as a bell. about a hour later he slipped away very peacefully. Made me feel proud to be a hospice aide.

My sister in law had a long seven year fight with cancer. The day before she died she vowed that she was going to make it and that she was going to kick the cancer.

The morning she died, my mother in law had the family priest come pray to St. Theresa to let her die. ( There is a story that St Theresa lets you know she has heard your prayer by sending roses in some way) At this point she was in a coma. I stayed with her when the rest of the family went outside for a break. While we were alone, I promised her that I would watch over her son & then I promised her that I would never let her memory die. I promised to talk to her son about her & tell her grandchildren about her. Right after I said that she seemed to relax - she smiled, sighed and died.

One of the first persons who walked in the door after she died was a friend of hers who had brought her a dozen roses. We had those roses cremated with her.

I've had the dream thing before. I use to work pedi oncology and when new patients came to the unit I would dream about which ones would die and which ones would go into remission. My dreams were ususally correct which was a little stressful for me. I was quite young then and didn't handle it well

A couple of days before my mother died, she was telling me about the angels in her room. She pointed upward toward different areas of the ceiling and described them. Just seconds before she died, I was sitting at her bedside holding her hand. She had been unresponsive since the evening before. She took her hand out of mine and held it upwards toward where she had been pointing at the angels then quit breating...
This was quite an experience for me. I was never sure of my faith in God before this moment. I wanted to believe, but I always wondered.. "what if.." I no longer wonder about such things. Through this act and a few other things that went on during her dying process, I found my faith. Her death was my blessing. I felt like it was meant to be this way. We had never been quite as close as she and my sister had been. I felt like it was her gift to me.

My father passed away last June from Mantel Cell Lymphoma. About 2 weeks before he passed away he was sitting on the end of the bed with his eyes closed and not responsive to my mom calling his name, so she went up to him and touched him on the shoulder and called his name again then he responded; he told my mom that he was sitting up in the clouds looking out into a vast universe of blue. He could see his feet dangling down and he said it was so peacful that if my mom had not touched him, he would not have come back. I knew then that he was close to the end. I think God gave him this brief glimpse of how wonderful the after life was going to be. I do believe in life after death, God, and that our loved ones are waiting for us on the other side.

I've had a few interesting death experiences, but none yet as a nurse.

My mother talked to someone before she died. She was in and out of consciousness for three days before she died of liver cancer. My father always told me someone showed up, but he did not know who.

My father had a near-death experience that was similar to the lady who told the guy she wouldn't go. Dad had COPD, CHF, asbestosis, you name it and he got viral pneumonia one year. He was in the ICU and they called us to come because they thought he was going to die right then. My brother and I prayed around his bed and while we were doing it, he woke up. He looked a little puzzled and once he seemed stable, my brother went home. I asked Dad what was going on and he said, "I was waiting and I talked to this man, and told him who I was and I was here. He told me no, I had to go back, he didn't want me. And then I woke up."

Dad knew that the man he saw was somewhere that he could not go. He got better and lived another eight years after that. He got sick again and was in the hospital and did okay. About two months before his death, I took him to the ER when he couldn't breathe and he didn't like the MD. He said he'd never go back again.

We were looking out the window one day a few months before I got married and we talked about plans and he told me, "You know, I don't think I'm going to make it to your wedding. I'm sorry." He had been very fatigued and had been sleeping a lot. He was going downhill when I went out of town for my friend's wedding. I was afraid he might die then, but he made it okay.

A week or so later, I was still tired from the trip the morning he ran out to take his pills when I heard him say, "My God, my God!" I tried to get out of bed, but I felt like something kept me there. He never made it to his pills. He died as he tried to take them. I found him and I knew then he was dead. I called 911 to no avail. Thankfully, the firefighters and paramedics were very accommodating. The police officer who showed up was too. Dad had a DNR but I could not find it. The paramedics ran a strip and saw no activity.

He was free of his illnesses and no longer sick or in pain. Knowing he died at home was a great comfort, since it was the place he most wanted to be, in the home he built himself.

My uncle died recently and the thing I remember most was that he kept hearing people talking in the next room in the ICU. There were no people on either side of him when he heard the voices. I stayed with him and told him to listen to whatever they had to say to him. I gave him a great big hug and left. It was the last time I saw him alive because he died the next morning. I guess a lot of people were looking for him, which was why he heard so many voices.