Death: Told she was dying, she gave her last months to family

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Told she was dying, she gave her last months to family

https://www.straitstimes.com/opinion/told-she-was-dying-she-gave-her-last-months-to-family

2025-12-21

By--- Professor Chong Siow Ann is a senior consultant psychiatrist at the Institute of Mental Health.

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“The thought of my own death has never been a distressing subject. We live, we love, we yield the stage to our children,” Canadian-American commentator David Frum wrote in an essay about the sudden death of his daughter.

“I hope that when the time arrived, I would have the chance for farewells. If that wish were granted, I could with total content ride the train to my final destination. It never occurred to me that one of my children might board the train first, pulling away as her parents wept on the platform.”

That train also left with my niece a few months ago, with her parents (my sister and her husband) and those who love her, weeping on the platform.

My niece’s illness, which was in remission for many years, flared up again late in 2024 – this time with a vengeance. Within months, it worsened relentlessly.

There was no reprieve this time, and the imminent end soon became certain, though exactly when was still unknown. In proportion to that growing and awful awareness, so too grew the grief of those who loved her.

Perhaps because I am older, and a doctor for whom death is no stranger, and because age, too, has shown me that death is part of life, I did not go through the usual stages of grief. There was no denial, bargaining or anger – only sadness, pain and that ambivalent, tortured tussle between wanting her to go, so as to be free of her physical suffering, and wanting to hold on to her. Yet, it was not all unremitting grimness.

Joy, writer Zadie Smith tells us, is not the same as simple pleasure, but rather a “strange admixture of terror, pain, and delight”. And that was how it was for me during the time I spent with my dying niece.

She remained clear-minded – until close to the end, when she had to be sedated for her pain – and resolute in making the most of her dwindling time, which she devoted to being with her family.

We talked, and sometimes, we laughed. She spoke of her fears of no longer being with her parents, husband and sister.

We talked about family; about her childhood, when she and her sister were cared for by my mother; about her work, her dog and two cats, the food she enjoyed, her past travels and wistful hopes for future ones, and her plans for her funeral (she wanted her ashes to be scattered). Some of these were achingly honest and heart-piercing conversations that could not have happened otherwise.

She bore her suffering without bitterness, facing its end with grace and even poise. At times, I could not tell who was the consoled and who was the consoler. These were moments of bittersweet intimacy that approximated joy.

“The thing no one ever tells you about joy is that it has very little real pleasure in it. And yet if you ever experienced it, you would never exchange it for all the pleasure in the world,” wrote Ms Smith. So true.

And now that my niece is no longer physically here, the grief and pain of the past have softened and transformed into gratitude – into a quiet celebration of how she had lived her life and what she had given to us. This is not a wilful turning away from reality into a blinkered solipsism, nor is it mere nostalgia.

Perhaps it is my subconscious psychological defence against the impermanence of things here and against the knowledge that we cannot hold on to anything or anyone for long on this earth.

So, while something joyous – even in times of deep sorrow – is happening, we should focus our attention on these moments, savour and treasure them, and store them away. Over time, those small moments, accumulated and remembered, are what make a life meaningful and even happy.

The stored photos of my niece on my phone, along with the memories and mental images – still fresh and accessible – continue to fortify me with a quiet joy, one that is not contingent on what the future may hold.

Professor Chong Siow Ann is a senior consultant psychiatrist at the Institute of Mental Health.

Finding Joy is a new Opinion series about the things that bring us satisfaction, fulfilment and meaning. If you have a submission, e-mail us at stopinion@sph.com.sg



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