Not so fast, my friend. ...

[maumann]

Par for the Corpse?

Mourning Wood?

Coughin' Corner?

 

[WriteThinking]

This kind of freaks me out, actually.

Because I've thought of this happening, whether with myself, or others.

I'll always remember when my dad died. He was in the hospital, in the final round of his fight with cancer. We in the family had spent most the last day in his room, talking to him, watching over him, etc., even as he was pretty much unconscious as a result of the pain and the overloaded morphine-based treatment for it.

He lay quietly until passing away, again, quietly, in the early-morning hours of the next day -- a fact we were thankful for because we all hoped and prayed fervently that he would not die on one of my nephews' 19th birthday. The two were close, in their own unique ways, and both had been happy and proud the year before, when, as my dad said, "We both made it!," to my nephew's high school graduation, which they'd made a pact between themselves that they would do. It was a real accomplishment, obviously for different reasons, in both their eyes.

Anyway, after my dad passed away, a nurse came into the room and wanted to start disconnecting things, and whatever else is done after someone dies. And to this day, I remember looking at one of my brothers, and asking in a small, uncertain voice: "Are we sure he's really dead?"

Even to my ears, it sounded like kind of a dumb, inane question, voiced into the silent and somber room. But maybe it wasn't. I know that, at the time, I was asking honestly, and in all seriousness. Because I wasn't going to let them disconnect anything, otherwise, I guess. Fortunately, my brother recognized it for the pained, poignant moment it was, and looked directly at me, shaking his head and saying sadly, "We're sure," like, I could rest assured that he wouldn't let anything final happen, either, if we weren't certain of that.

 

[Liut]

This kind of freaks me out, actually.

Because I've thought of this happening, whether with myself, or others.

I'll always remember when my dad died. He was in the hospital, in the final round of his fight with cancer. We in the family had spent most the last day in his room, talking him, watching over him, etc., even as he was pretty much unconscious as a result of the pain and the overloaded morphine-based treatment for it.

He lay quietly until passing away, again, quietly, in the early-morning hours of the next day -- a fact we were thankful for because we all hoped and prayed fervently that he would not die on one of my nephews' 19th birthday. The two were close, in their own unique ways, and both had been happy and proud the year before, when, as my dad said, "We both made it!," to my nephew's high school graduation, which they'd made a pact between themselves that they would do. It was a real accomplishment, obviously for different reasons, in both their eyes.

Anyway, after my dad passed away, a nurse came into the room and wanted to start disconnecting things, and whatever else is done after someone dies. And to this day, I remember looking at one of my brothers, and asking in a small, uncertain voice: "Are we sure he's really dead?"

Even to my ears, it sounded like kind of a dumb, inane question, voiced into the silent and somber room. But maybe it wasn't. I know that, at the time, I was asking honestly, and in all seriousness. Because I wasn't going to let them disconnect anything, otherwise, I guess. Fortunately, my brother recognized it for the pained, poignant moment it was, and looked directly at me, shaking his head and saying sadly, "We're sure," like, I could rest assured that he wouldn't let anything final happen, either, if we weren't certain of that.

Thank you for sharing.

 

[Twirling Time]

This kind of freaks me out, actually.

Because I've thought of this happening, whether with myself, or others.

I'll always remember when my dad died. He was in the hospital, in the final round of his fight with cancer. We in the family had spent most the last day in his room, talking to him, watching over him, etc., even as he was pretty much unconscious as a result of the pain and the overloaded morphine-based treatment for it.

He lay quietly until passing away, again, quietly, in the early-morning hours of the next day -- a fact we were thankful for because we all hoped and prayed fervently that he would not die on one of my nephews' 19th birthday. The two were close, in their own unique ways, and both had been happy and proud the year before, when, as my dad said, "We both made it!," to my nephew's high school graduation, which they'd made a pact between themselves that they would do. It was a real accomplishment, obviously for different reasons, in both their eyes.

Anyway, after my dad passed away, a nurse came into the room and wanted to start disconnecting things, and whatever else is done after someone dies. And to this day, I remember looking at one of my brothers, and asking in a small, uncertain voice: "Are we sure he's really dead?"

Even to my ears, it sounded like kind of a dumb, inane question, voiced into the silent and somber room. But maybe it wasn't. I know that, at the time, I was asking honestly, and in all seriousness. Because I wasn't going to let them disconnect anything, otherwise, I guess. Fortunately, my brother recognized it for the pained, poignant moment it was, and looked directly at me, shaking his head and saying sadly, "We're sure," like, I could rest assured that he wouldn't let anything final happen, either, if we weren't certain of that.

After my Mom passed away 4 1/2 years ago, my sister (an RN) chewed out her daughter (my niece) for clicking off the O2 machine in the room. It was one of those machines that ran constantly and concentrated the 20% O2 in the air to 40%. It made a running noise and the silence of it not running any longer was a stark finality.

 

[MisterCreosote]

My dog would always comically and loudly snort at me when he wanted something, even if it was just attention. I laughed every time.

When I took him to the vet for the last time, I was laying on the floor with him after the doc gave him the shots. After a few minutes of silence, I figured he had passed. So I got up. As if on cue, he let out one final, huge snort. Didn't even open his eyes. I laid back down and he used his last bit of energy to nuzzle into my stomach and then cross the rainbow bridge.

 

[Vombatus]

Update: Dead again.