I think it's different for everyone. For those of us who had/have parents in our lives, we know that it's just down to nature that they're supposed to eventually die before we do. But the time left is uncertain, even if you prepare yourself, and even then, it's still somehow unexpected (like with my dad) and in other cases, the onset of it seems to drag on painfully (like with my mom).

With my dad, we did not know he suffered dementia for years before a diagnosis. It was barely 2001 when he had a car accident that should have killed him (he blacked out and slumped over, relaxed (so was like a ragdoll behind his seat belt, instead of tensing up upon impact, which would have caused more damage). While in the ER, they examined everything (not only found that the sutures holding up his pacemaker had slipped, but also having done a brain scan, and that's where they discovered brain tissue deterioration to where parts of his brain were physically missing/gone). He had either 1 or 10 years to live, the doctors just could not say...and we never knew that he was going through that before it all happened...he had just gotten more tired and slightly more brain fog-y over the past few years before, and we just thought it was aging/years of hard work (he was a baker from the time he was 14 as an orphan and barely took a day off). At not even 60 years old, he had spent the last 3 years of his life in a nursing home because we were unable to do everything a facility could. His language and behavior were that of about a 4 year old in the few months before he died. It's also important to note that at the time, not much was known about this type of dementia (Pick's disease), and doctors documented everything they could to be more familiar with other cases like it in the future. There was also NONE of the type of caregiver support and community for people who had relatives living with dementia/Alzheimer's, the way there is now...with the internet still in its infancy, and no such thing as social media yet, barely even discussion boards...just to give an idea of the lack of information or resources that could be found.

With my mother, she just had a lot of health problems due to lifestyle, and suffered chronic inflammation and pain as a result. You name the kind of painful disease, she had it. Multi-fibromyalgia, osteoarthritis, rheumatoid arthritis, numb/painful feet/legs, couldn't walk without assistance of a cane starting around age 57, then to a walker from about ten years later (until she died at 77) and either always on pain meds (we're talking TONS) or screaming & crying with pain nonstop about 85% of every day and not being able to help make it better. The number of times we would discuss with her some kind of either on-site or move-in care (moving to assisted living) and going back and forth was hard to keep track of. She refused changing her diet or any other health habits. It was hard to see that, and knowing it is your job to care for your parents in their last years made it even harder to the point you just weren't allowed to help unless you would like to have the silent treatment for months or be disowned. But after some time, she might come around to be agreeable to some changes, then to have it all be back (to just not happening) again. It makes you feel guilty and at the same time, you also feel a bit gaslighted but it's also hard because you don't want to admit your parent is manipulating you, because it was mostly out of desperation due to extreme pain, fear, and denial (that she did not have more time left than she did). Having to watch a loved one in their dying years and trying not to force them to realize they're not going to make it much longer is something I don't know how else to describe other than the way I just did, albeit a bit ramble-y.

The last days were not good ones with having to helplessly watch it all fade away in a hospital, which is the last place she wanted to be. Her last month on earth was spent there. We could not do anything, we could barely carry on a conversation, because she was on a ventilator which was keeping her alive, and her facilities had mostly depleted in her last few days, too.

In the end, you're sort of relieved to know they no longer hurt or suffer, but you also feel drained, extremely guilty, and yet every time the guilt comes up again, it hurts to have to forcibly remind myself that i did what I thought was right, and what I could, with my mom. She had the last word, and there was just no arguing. From her standpoint, I am her child, not her doctor.