Chapter 12 - The End

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It is strange trying to envisage the death of your child. We did not want him to die in his sleep because you want to say those last comforting words. We did not want him to die in pain. What do you want? What do you know of these things? We, like most, knew very little and we did not get what we wanted.

Sara and I wanted Max to die at home. We had nursed him through three cancers and decided to do the final nursing by ourselves and to the end. We both felt that his death should be in the arms of his family and away from the hospital. We did not think that he would have lasted very long in the hospital. The Royal Marsden Hospital also felt that a home death would be better for us all. We needed the privacy to watch our child die.

Neither of Sara or I regretted this difficult decision.

Max died at 11.03 p.m. on 22nd January 1997.

We did not get the peaceful death we craved. He did not slip away quietly. We endured three hours of cheyne-stoking. These are the terrible noises as the body slowly closes down. It led to a ghastly, rasping, choking, wheezing as his respiratory system and the rest of his organs started to fail.

We originally wanted to be alone with Max when he died and did not want medical staff present but the noise became too distressing for both of us. We called out the local doctor who was accompanied by the district nurse. Both these women showed exceptional empathy for our situation. We did not feel that they intruded on this so private family moment and were very grateful for their presence.

The moment Max died I felt a huge physical release of tension. It was literally as if someone had lifted a sack of potatoes from my shoulders. It was a partial release of the hidden load I had been carrying for so long.

After the doctor and nurse had gone we woke Paula and brought her into the Max's room. We told her that Max had died and was at peace and no longer in pain. She gave him a kiss and cried. Sara was crying too.

They left me alone with Max. I did not cry. What poured forth was a wail which came from deep down in the soul, a howl of unbearable pain. It was a bizarre sound but it was not crying. It was the start of the release of all the emotions which had been bottled up for so many years.

Two hours later I carried him to the hearse. He was so light, so limp, so lifeless. It seemed inconceivable that such a big person had been shrunk to this.

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