Caregivers were with Cheryl to make sure she was comfortable and had medicine to ease any pain or anxiety. VSED cases are overseen by doctors and hospice staff.
Her family would sing to her, massage her legs as they cramped from dehydration, and offer her a tiny spritz of water or a cold spoon to hold in her mouth for comfort. There were moments, as Cheryl was dying, when she would become confused and forget. VSED is not a swift or simple death and patients in cognitive decline need special care to ensure that they are capable of giving informed consent. "People often ask, did she have doubts? I can honestly say she did not," said her husband, David McNally. In a culture that shies away from talk of death, here was a family showing us what dying looks like. But it also drew strangers, who grieved with them and marveled at their generosity. The site started as a way to share news with family and friends. Every day, she shared photos and updates on her mother's condition on. "It's never too early to start a conversation of what people wish for around their end of life."īrown had helped other families through the goodbyes that nobody wants and everyone needs. "The more that death is part of the conversation and less of a taboo, the more we as a community can be present for one of the two most significant moments in your life," Brown said. Welcoming us into the world and helping us say goodbye. One of Cheryl's daughters is a birth doula. She sat outside in the sun, surrounded by summer flowers and birdsong. Friends visited, musicians serenaded her, and her grandchildren pressed her thumb into soft clay to create keepsakes. Instead of languishing for years in memory care, she chose to spend her last weeks at home in Minnetonka. "My brother died of this disease and it was torture. "When the day comes when nothing matters anymore, I'll begin," she told the Star Tribune in 2021. When the time came, she would VSED - voluntarily stop eating and drinking. When she was diagnosed, she knew how she wanted her story to end. She lost her brother Bill to Alzheimer's, years before the disease actually killed him.
"She was someone who could sing in the grocery store aisle, then have a long conversation out in the parking lot with a total stranger."īut Cheryl knew what was coming. But there is sadness."Ĭheryl had loved the life that Alzheimer's was stealing from her. "You're in it together," said Brown, who has worked for years as a death doula, easing the transition from this life to whatever comes next.
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