The means to gain happiness
is to throw out from oneself,
like a spider,
in all directions
an adhesive web of love,
and to catch in it
all that comes.

~LeoTolstoy (09 Sept 1828-20 Nov 1910; Russian novelist/author)

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

“Everybody goes through the dying process in their own way,” said the LPN to my sister, Marlene, and I.

We’d been told as much the day before, from another nurse, when Marlene had pointed out that Dad had gone through the death process with his eyes open the whole time…right up to his passing…“But people usually don’t have their eyes open as they are dying,” the nurse had added.

Dad had had his eyes open…but I sensed he didn’t “see” his surroundings near the end.

Mom’s eyes were closed.

Recently I had a chance to talk with a palliative nurse who shared, “I’ve seen about an equal number of people who die eyes open or shut. I would venture to guess it has a lot to do with shock. If the body is going into shock, i.e. moving all its vascular energy to the core, then the eyes will probably stay open due to natural contraction, and the opposite will occur if the body dies without shock.”

Yes, Dad had lost heat in his extremities and was very cold to the touch BEFORE he died…whereas Mom was still very warm when she passed.

I was curious.

I wanted more information.

So I read a New Zealand abstract. It said, out of 100 patients at a Hospice, “The majority (63%) of the patients died with their eyes fully closed, however, 37% had bilateral ptosis at death, with incomplete eye closure.” (Ptosis is also called “drooping eyelid.” And with the death process it is caused by weakness of the muscle responsible for raising the eyelid.)

I continued reading.

“Hepatic encephalopathy appeared to be a pre-mortem risk factor of bilateral ptosis at death.” (Hepatic encephalopathy is a worsening of brain function that occurs when the liver is no longer able to remove toxic substances in the blood.)

So I take it that an eyelid being open or closed does not originate from the mind; it isn’t a conscious decision. It is in fact organic.

And just so you know, for “open eye position” to be registered, the upper eyelid needs to be at least above the pupillary midline i.e. at least 50% of the white of the eye needs to be visible.

So yup, according to that, Dad’s eyes had been open.

“Eyelids control the portal of entry to the principle sensory organ for perceiving the external environment, and are tightly linked to the fundamental processes of the brain itself.”

So I guess Dad had had his eyes open because of declining brain and body function…he certainly couldn’t “see” what was happening around him. Besides, his eyes had had a glazed look.

The abstract continued with, “Total eye closure is usual in sleep, coma and in death.”

So there you have it…or at least until the next study comes along.

And here’s something else that’s interesting: “Incomplete eyelid closure pre-mortem and post-mortem is not uncommon in cancer-related deaths.”

Hmmmm…Dad had had cancer…

“I was wondering if eyes open at death is an indication that the deceased is fearful of the future, presumably because of past behaviors,” someone asked me recently.

“I don’t think so,” I replied. “And here’s why…” I continued, citing the details I’d read recently.

So, to all you surviving relatives out there, this is to reassure you that closed eyes at death isn’t necessarily associated with peacefulness and restfulness and opened eyes with discomfort or even fear.

What experience have you had with the dying…did they die with eyes open? Or closed?

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

Losing your second parent can stir up feelings of abandonment—that you’re all alone in the world.

“Orphaned adults” we are called…even if our parents lived a long life…and it was an expected death associated with “old age”.

Yes, it may have been expected…but with it there is soul searching…and a feeling of being without a rudder…at least for me…and at least right now.

It’s been a couple of months since the death of my second parent and I wasn’t expecting to hear, “Well, when you have your parents’ interment ceremony in July that will be the end of your grieving, eh?! You’ll be able to get on with your life…put everything behind you.”

“Maybe…maybe not,” I was thinking. I’ve been handling the situation “really well” in the eyes of some people—to them that means ‘not getting too emotional’.

I expect there WILL be a degree of closure with the interment…but I can’t say that will be the END of my grief.

In fact, It’s dawning on me that I’m really only STARTING to feel the avalanche of emotions around the death of both my parents. (And with it there’s a tad bit of embarrassment…because of my age…because I’m usually always “so together”…because I’m expected to ‘handle’ things well.)

But I’ll let you in on a secret—I really feel like crap…at least today—I’m having a ‘moment’. And I won’t be dwelling on it. But it’s there. And it’s a reminder that I can still be blindsided by grief.

Maybe the death of my Mom triggered, or reactivated, mourning for my Dad. (Maybe I didn’t fully mourn the first parental death because I became so preoccupied with my surviving parent.)

Or maybe it was the ‘not so nice’ comments about my deceased relative that I heard within the last week…and I felt protective (even though there was truth to what was said).

Before my parents died I couldn’t really comprehend what it would be like living without them (Now I know.)—I hadn’t given it much thought, really…just expected that I would weather it well! After all, I keep hearing, “you have such strength!”

I’m tired. I’m Really tired. And I believe there are a few other issues I need to deal with too. (Maybe I need to think about what I want from my life.)

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

My Mother seems so far away from me,
On that beautiful white shore across the sea.
Yet I remember love’s soft glow upon her face,
And the feel of her touch and tender embrace.

When I am weary from the burdens I’ve borne,
And the path is unclear and I feel so forlorn,
I remember her loving support was always near,
And her advice made the path ahead seem clear.

When I feel there is no one who seems to care,
Or when the heartache seems too hard to bear,
I remember how she always stood by my side,
And would tenderly wipe away the tears I cried.

When there are moments of great joy and pride,
And I wish my Mother was standing at my side,
I remember she saw more than I thought I could be,
And know I owe my triumphs to her belief in me.

When I reminisce about the things she used to say,
And I miss her and think she is so far away,
I remember what she gave lives on through me,
And one day I’ll see her on the shore across the sea.

~Belinda Stotler

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

I had started my grieving in the years my Mother lived with Alzheimer’s…and it grew in intensity in the years before her death…as she gradually evaporated before my eyes.

For several months after her husband of 68 years died in June 2010, she’d displayed a disinterest in life and started to wither away. (She had stopped eating and barely consumed enough liquid to keep her body going—so it appeared she knew what it meant when, after the third time, I told her, “Otto died. He’s in heaven now.”)

Seeing her decline, I prepared myself for the worst.

But then, that September, she rebounded (it was as if she “woke up”) and she plodded on with life.

But I could see the changes.

Things just weren’t the same with her.

She had slowed down. She looked so much older. She was falling out of bed. She became wheelchair bound…and then she declined to the point it became difficult to transfer her into a vehicle.  With help from a hired rehab assistant, Mom did strength-training exercises, some walking and practiced wheelchair-to-car transfers.

So last December when my husband and I took her for an outing to the mall to soak in the wonder of Christmas, pushing her in her wheelchair, cozy blanket wrapped around her legs, giving her plenty of time to touch fabrics and watch children with Santa (who smiled and waved at Mom) and gaze at winter displays while she sipped an orange Julius, I was thrilled we were once again able to take her out…but I had a wee sense that all was not well in her world—her color seemed…well it seemed a bit off…like the color Dad had in the month-and-a-half before he passed away. Yet Mom was happy and smiling and stayed awake for hours…not wanting to miss a thing, I suspect! What a wonderful time we had and I was excited for our next outing!

Even though I had seen the color change in Mom’s skin, I have to say I was still shocked when I got the phone call in Jan…only three-and-a-half weeks later…informing me that she hadn’t eaten for two days and was shaking her head “No” to fluids and food.

It was as if she had already decided…

Palliative meds were ordered…

My four-and-a-half hour drive to her seemed soooo long! I was able to think about the fact this was probably IT…she wasn’t going to recover this time.

So yes, I had done some grieving before Mom passed away…I had known this day was coming.

Even so, it was still a jolt when it happened.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

Mom, a constant in my life, was with me when I drew my first breath…and I had the honor of being with her when she took her last.

I miss you terribly Mom.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

Six days before she passed, her eyes were glazy as she weakly looked at me with half-lidded eyes.

I spoke to her soothingly, telling her I was her daughter Melanie, and carefully swabbed her mouth…something she was allowing me to do…she had refused others this act.

And then she took 12 strong sucks of the cool swab, clamping her gums together on it…over and over as I offered it…swallowing water she desperately needed.

I watched in amazement as the beautiful green color come back into her irises—such a remarkable event to watch.

I was startled…and transfixed.

When she made the effort to really look into my eyes…I swear she knew who I was, despite her Alzheimer’s.

Yes, I realized she had put out this extra effort to give me this amazing time with her…and I felt so blessed. My heart swelled, and I knew this would be a lifetime memory…a cherished moment.

With a lot of effort she said, “Hi.”

When I asked if she was in pain, she shook her head and said, “No.”

Earlier I had put on some background music…a transient relaxation tape…and now, while she looked at me, I lovingly massaged Mom’s legs, feet, toes, her head and neck, her hands and fingers…while I talked softly, telling her beautiful memories from my childhood…talking to her about how I loved the times she and her sisters sang in harmony whenever they got together at our house, how I loved Mom’s cooking and baking, fond memories I had of picking cherries with her at Mr. Blackman’s orchard when I was a teenager…and my most favorite memory of all…the time we painted ceramic Christmas ornaments together and chatted about life.

With each memory I went into great visual detail, trying to stimulate every sense…emphasizing colors, tastes, emotions…and singing songs I remembered.

She looked very peaceful and relaxed when I left.

…an angel.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

One, or both, of your parents have passed away…and you are wondering, “What next? How do I live without them in my life?”

Keep a physical reminder of your mother or father near you—a talisman, or comfort.

Think about what to keep and what to give away of your parent’s beliefs, personality traits, habits, skills, aims, loves. Which of those will continue to reside in you? Which ones will you nurture? Which bring you less peace and comfort and can be let go?

And since my mother died recently, I’ll focus more on a daughter’s death of a mother. Whatever your relationship with your mother, her death provides an opportunity to honor her life and live your own remaining years with authenticity, being open to new possibilities. And regardless of your age, size, occupation or gender, when your mother dies, you are still that mother’s child.

Immediately after your parent dies, you are plunged into the sharp, painful nostalgia that accompanies the recollections of childhood–everything your parent represented in terms of security, familiarity, and protection seems to be gone. You’re now forced to cope with the loss of parental love and attention that was given, uniquely, to you, and that you depended on, possibly even took for granted. To one degree or another, you grapple with the realization that no one knows you in the exact same way as your mother–indeed, will ever know you as your parent did.

But remember, just as there is a sense of a loss of family history there is also the birth of a mother’s legacy.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

When your mother dies, it can be a life-changing time.

And when you grieve, you honor the deep, mysterious bond of child to mother.

And if you are a daughter, it can lead to personal change in many areas your life because of the emotions that death triggers, and the complexity of the mother/daughter bond…no matter how old you are!

Yes, after the death of a mother, bereaved daughters can break free from their past and move into a new phase of their own life. But, depending on your life history, with it you can experience a gamut of feelings…guilt, depression, yearning, confusion, relief, disappointment, fear, abandonment, release, anger, remorse, isolation, frustration, compassion, admiration …

Allow your feelings to come to the surface…without apology. Express yourself (and in doing so you will understand what issues you may need to work with…what you are missing…what emotions are all encompassing).

Yes, express yourself…either to a trusted someone…or write. Write about your mother’s perception of you. Express your fears, your yearnings, and your anxieties to a photograph of her…especially if you never had the opportunity to tell your parent directly before she died—You can say those things you wish you had said before the death.

And if you had a difficult relationship, explain your actions or views, affirm your love, confide your less than positive thoughts. There is nothing wrong in “talking” to the dead.

Tell your mother how glad you are to have learned so much from her.

Tell her you will carry that with you into the rest of your life.

In another Blog I’ll share more ideas of healing through grief, in the death of a parent.

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James

Here is a heartfelt thank you to those who reached out, expressing thoughts of condolence regarding my mother’s death.

My time with her, during those ten days leading up to her death, was an absolutely incredible experience…sprinkled with cherished moments (some of which I will share with you in upcoming Blog posts)…although an exhausting time…and stressful…yet so very natural and so peaceful for Mom.

I’m sooooooo glad I was able to be there for her. She was such a strong lady! And looked to me like such an angel!

I will love you always, Mom!

Rest in peace!

Melanie Hack
Author of Who Killed My Sister, My Friend
Read an excerpt now
TV Shows and Clips about the Death of Cindy James