Why closure matters at the end of life
This article is part of a series in which we speak to individuals who – due to a unique job, location or experience – share
This article is part of a series in which we speak to individuals who – due to a unique job, location or experience – share an insight they wish others could know. What’s the one thing people should know? A peaceful, supported end-of-life experience – focused on family, closure and environment – can transform the dying process and the way loved ones grieve. For Caty Hollis, 61, the path to palliative care began two decades ago, when her father chose to die at his London home after a long battle with colon cancer. At the time, Hollis was working as a nurse at the Bradford Royal Infirmary, a large teaching hospital in northern England, and she travelled down to the capital to help care for him in his final weeks. Surrounded by loved ones, her dad, a devoted police detective, said he wished he had been more present in his three daughters’ lives – and that he had not let his work consume so much of his time. A week before he died, the family decided he would spend his final days at home, where those closest to him gathered at his bedside and filled the room with his favourite music – from Frank Sinatra’s smooth voice to the upbeat symphonic rock of the Electric Light Orchestra. Hollis had recently taken time off from work following a miscarriage, one of several she had suffered in recent years. The latest loss had upset her father, as he wanted Hollis and her husband to experience the joy of parenthood. In his final days, he even told her he was dying so that they could have their baby – “like a circle of life” – which, she said, brought him great peace. At the time, Hollis’s two sisters already had children, and she often found it difficult to be around them. Because of her fertility struggles, she found it hard to spend time with their growing families – especially when her father was dying and her eldest sister was pregnant again.
However, in the days before his death, she began to find comfort in her sisters’ presence. “On the morning before he died, when he was peacefully settled but unable to communicate any longer, we spent time together discussing my sister’s baby and laughing loudly at some possible outlandish names that she and her partner might name their child. We all felt certain that Dad was able to hear us and enjoy the sound of laughter,” she said. When he died, the comforting lyrics of James Taylor singing “You’ve Got a Friend” floated through the room – a song that will forever anchor her memories of her dad. Watching him die, she was struck by how different it felt from the deaths she had seen on her ward. We all felt certain that Dad was able to hear us and enjoy the sound of laughter. by Caty Hollis Away from the hospital’s constant blare of machines and sterile surroundings full of strangers, he was able to spend his final hours in what she felt was a far more natural environment. At home, the focus shifted. Instead of the urgent medical interventions of the hospital, where every effort was made to prolong life, the priority became ensuring his final moments were as peaceful as possible. On the vascular ward, Hollis had often encountered end-of-life care, but it was largely clinical, centred on the technicalities of a patient’s last hours. Watching her father die so calmly changed her sense of what that care could look like. So, in 2003, Hollis decided to join Marie Curie, one of the UK's largest end-of-life care charities, which provides hospice care focused less on curative treatment and more on comfort, quality of life and the emotional wellbeing of patients and their loved ones. “They’ve already got their diagnosis. They know that their life is limited, but the important things are that they can have the right surroundings and people,” she explained.
The BriefWire