In May it’ll be a year since my mum passed. Overall I’ve been able to talk about it quite well and art has been my saving grace. But I often avoid talking about euthanasia. My mum chose to die.
I rarely talk about it.
I’m afraid people might judge or say stupid things. But talking about it is important. It is a controversial subject and brings up all sorts of beliefs about life and death.
It comes down to respecting the choices the person you love has made. Honouring an other person’s view.
I found it difficult but fully supported my mum’s decision. And the alternative wasn’t really an option either.
I did wish my mum would go on her own before the gp would arrive. The day and night before she was already with one foot on the other side. I told her it was okay to let go.
Having a date with death at precisely 1.30pm is tough. As much as I wanted to stretch out the days before to have as much time with her as possible, that early afternoon the minutes dragged and I just sat with this heaviness in me, dreading that very last goodbye, wishing it to be over and at the same time not.
My mum choose her ending. After a life of pain all she wanted was rest and see her mum, oma.
It suited her. Being in charge to the last second. And I love her for that.
The GP was a wonderful man and the nurse who came daily was a blessing.
In all the heavy emotions it was a beautiful goodbye filled with love.
She died holding my hand, on her way to oma 💖