In this beautiful and personal blog, Nanneke Morgan, a counsellor in our Cardiff centre, shares a unique perspective on the assisted death of her father…
In 2023, my father had euthanasia in The Netherlands. With the assisted dying bill recently in the news, coupled with strong views in favour and against expressed by many people, I wanted to share my own experience of the death of my father.
Here is our story...
All my life my parents have been very clear about their wishes about their end of life. The idea of being dependent on other people and having to move into a care home was something that they absolutely wanted to avoid. They wanted, when the time came, to be able to decide for themselves when they had enough and they wanted to spend the last days of their lives in their own bed, at home.
Over the last 4 to 5 years, the health of my parents had declined. My mother, always super fit and in a mad rush, has slowed down. 2 summers ago she struggled to walk to the shop. Standing straight was very painful. Thankfully the local shop has an excellent delivery service and my sister-in-law has set up her shopping app and can advise, from a distance, how to order. The house – super clean for the first 59 years of my life, is now by times dirty because my mother’s sight is not what is once was. She has a wonderful cleaning lady every other week, but this person cannot do everything of course.
The last 5 years of my father’s life, he slowly lost the things that made his life enjoyable; I remember the first time he had to walk with a Zimmer frame, first outside, then also inside; when he couldn’t do the shopping anymore, his daily outing – which he enjoyed doing as he had conversations with the staff of most shops he visited and always came home with lovely stories about what he had seen and heard – and the weekly beautiful bouquet of flowers he always bought for my mother was no more; when he couldn’t use the shower anymore; when they bought a wheelchair for him so my mother could take him outside; when my mother started paying the bills when they went out – something that he had always done before; when he struggled for ages to get up from the dining table and then stopped eating his dinner at the table; when he struggled to get up from his comfy chair; when my mother more and more had to become his carer, and do most of the cooking and making the drinks; when doing anything in the kitchen became a struggle as he had to hold himself steady with one hand all the time; when he became dizzy, so dizzy that it was a struggle to get up, and when he lost his taste. The numerous times he fell in the house and couldn’t get up – when he had to wait, lying on the floor, for a carer to arrive to help him up again. Slowly his life became more and more limited. My mother tried to take my father out as much as she could – encouraged him to sit on the balcony when the weather was good, pushing him in the wheelchair – my badly walking mother of 89 years old – so my father saw other people. Because of my father’s limitations, her world also became smaller & smaller.
In the summer of 2023 he had another fall and was bedbound after that. His legs couldn’t carry him anymore – even the toilet chair next to his bed he was unable to use. He got a catheter and a nappy and the carers came once a day to wash him. This was the moment that he decided that his life was not worth living anymore. I arrived a week after his fall and stayed till his death. I found it hard, as my father’s mind was fine – we had conversations – better conversations than we’d ever had before. But I also saw that at night he couldn’t get comfortable. It was very hard to watch him struggle moving from his back to on his side – it was painful.
Luckily, he lived in Holland, and not in the UK. He spoke with his GP and euthanasia was agreed. Since my parents retired, over 30 years ago, they have talked regularly with their GPs about end of life – they have always, repeatedly, been crystal clear about what an unacceptable life is for them and their GP was well aware of their wishes.
The process is thorough. The GP visited my parents and had a long talk with them. Apart from what exactly happens during euthanasia, other options were talked about as well – different types of euthanasia, more carers, a care home. A couple of days later there was another visit by him and again, another talk and again, a clear explanation of what to expect during euthanasia and explaining other options. My father wanted to die – the sooner the better. The date was given – 10 days from that day, on a Friday at 3 pm. My father wanted it quicker, but that was not possible.
There are strict rules in The Netherlands about euthanasia – strict protocols to follow. When a decision about euthanasia is made, a ‘scan-arts’ has to visit, an outsider, and check whether he/she agrees with the GP that euthanasia can be done. The scan-arts who visited us was really lovely – an elderly GP, who spent at least an hour with my father alone, talking together. Before he left, he also talked to us and told us that he didn’t see any problems with my father’s decision. He accepted the fact that my father felt that his quality of life had deteriorated over the years and that his life was now such that continuing would mean a lot of suffering for my father. Again, the different options were talked about and again euthanasia was discussed. The whole process was done in a very relaxed and unrushed way with lots of opportunity for everyone present to talk and ask questions.
The undertaker was phoned and visited us to talk about the cremation. He was able to have a chat with my father – something that he didn’t experience that often, I guess. My mother had designed the ‘funeral card’ – this is what we do in Holland – when someone dies, you get a special card to notify you about that with the time and place of the funeral or cremation - the design of her own card she has almost finished as well by the way. The cremation was booked and arrangements were made. Arrangements that my father had a say in as well.
A couple of days did pass and every day my father had visitors who were coming to say goodbye – this was unrushed, with my father in his own bed, overlooking the river and sea – a view that he couldn’t get enough of. Visitors arrived in a depressed mood, but left without fail with the feeling that it was ok – this was my father’s decision and it was good. My father was not afraid. He also didn’t lose his sense of humour – when one of our friends made a joke he said with a straight face: ‘You can’t make jokes here – it’s a deathbed!’
I helped to look after my father for the last 2 weeks of his life, together with my mother and a Ria, a friend who visited around the start of this process and decided to stay and help out. We were also supported by lovely carers, at least once a day. At first it was difficult to find a rhythm looking after my father – there were lots of ‘firsts’ – seeing him being washed by a carer – seeing him with a nappy on – feeding him – brushing his teeth – holding him – stroking his head – tucking him in. It’s a very strange, but beautiful process – something that I am very glad I was able to be part of. It’s the same with my mother – I see her in a different light now – see how much she did for my father – while in so much pain herself – and how much care and love there was between them. My mother has been terrified for years that she would die first, as she knew that my father wouldn’t have been able to look after himself. My father was worried about my mother as he did know that she was in a lot of pain and he worried, of course, what will happen to her when she cannot look after herself anymore. I am glad that I could reassure both of them that when my mother’s time comes, that I will come and stay with her for a few weeks so she can have a similar experience as my father – a planned, unrushed deathbed, with ample time to say her goodbyes.
My father sorted out his administration and his cupboards during the last few days of his life – years of ‘that may still come handy’- stuff was thrown away, some things were marked for specific family members – a special wallet for his son, a French course for a friend of mine who is teaching French, and I claimed the stones that they brought back from their travels all over the world – I will use those for my practice. Friends and family members visited – the youngest member of our family, a great granddaughter of a few months old, was fascinated by my father. Lots of pictures were made.
The last few days were hard – my father was very restless, couldn’t keep still, was terrified of falling. There were drops and sleeping pills that we could give to ease this – but the last night of his life the sleeping pills were finished and the delivery of new ones came too late. I sat up most of the night with my father, holding his hands. My sister, who had arrived that day, took over the last part of the night. On the day of the euthanasia – the day of his death – it felt really strange. My father ate breakfast and lunch. After lunch, a nurse came to place the needle for the euthanasia medication in my father’s arm. She checked in with him about what was going to happen later that day and asked him whether he still wanted to go ahead with it. Shortly after that my brother arrived with my sister-in-law. The last hour before his death, we all sat in the bedroom, with a glass of wine, saying our goodbyes. At 3 pm the GP arrived. Again, the GP explained what was about to happen, and checked with my father whether he still wanted to go ahead with it. He did. (The GP had told us a few days earlier that we shouldn’t give my father sleeping pills before the euthanasia as my father still needed to give his consent just before the euthanasia). He left us alone for a few minutes while he sorted out the medication in the living room. When he came back, he clearly explained to my father what he was doing. He also clearly told him when the medication was given that would put my father to sleep. We were all there when my father died. It was very emotional.
After that, the body needed to be released by the department of justice and another doctor visited. This doctor checked again whether everything was done according to the rules. When the body was released, we were allowed to call the undertaker. 3 to 4 hours after his death, my father was washed, dressed, and on his way to the crematorium.
How do I look back on this period, almost 2 years ago now? I have a feeling of deep gratitude about the way my father was allowed to end his life. It was beautiful and good – although, of course, also very sad. Our lives will be ending one day, and it was very special to see my father to be able to decide when that time had arrived for him. His last days were spend in his own bed, surrounded by family and friends. It was a good death.
My feelings about euthanasia have changed as well. Before this experience, I was a bit ambivalent about it. I wondered whether their strong views from my parents about what is an acceptable life and not, would change over time, and whether being dependent on someone else may feel different when you are very fit and healthy then when you actually do need the support. What would happen if they would change their mind? However, I have been very reassured by the thorough process in The Netherlands and the level of care around euthanasia. There were so many opportunities for my father to change his mind, had he wanted to do so – right until the moment of his death. I can understand, that knowing that this option is there, can take away a lot of fear around death and dying. I hope that, by the time I am at the end of my life, that this option is also available to me here in the UK. I am not sure whether I would want euthanasia, but it would be reassuring to know that I had that choice.
How is my mum? She is 91 now. She also is very grateful about the way my father died. And, of course, she misses him – but more the person he used to be, before his life got so limited. She is doing amazingly well.
I do hope, by sharing how I experienced the death of my father, by sharing how I experienced a system that really worked in his case – that felt safe, that I can contribute a little bit towards the difficult subject of assisted dying. This was my father’s decision – and his alone. He was able to die in his own bed, in his own house, surrounded by his family at a time of his choosing. It was a good death.
Nanneke Morgan is a counsellor in our Cardiff centre.
