What do you write in your Easter calendar when you know a loved one will die? | Amanda Blair

I’ve experienced grief before but nothing quite like what we’ve been told to expect this Easter, writes Amanda Blair.

Amanda Blair’s family with their beloved grandmother. Picture: Supplied

My mother-in-law is dying and according to her palliative care specialist it will probably on Easter Saturday.

Initially she said she’d like to go out on Good Friday but we talked her down from that date as the obvious jokes about Jesus would be hard to ignore.

Ever practical she’s chosen Easter because her family are around.

She didn’t want to inconvenience any of us by making us take time off work but surely you’re allowed to be selfish when planning your own death?

We’ve known it was coming for over 4 years.

One day, early on in her retirement after working as a busy GP for over 50 years, she felt like she had a peanut stuck in her throat.

She knew immediately what it was, having broken the bad news to many patients with the same symptoms.

They removed her “bad” lung thinking they’d contained it, then a year later, she started feeling breathless. It was back.

She was OK for a while, she had a good respiratory specialist and a healthy mental attitude.

She celebrated her birthday with a big party where she delivered a lovely speech and told everybody that she’d had a good life, had wonderful friends and 4 great children, 11 grandchildren and it was just bad luck she had to leave the party early.

We had not one but three “last” Easter’s Christmases and birthdays and for a while there we started to call her John Farnham – when was it actually going to be the “last” time?

Recently she’s really started to deteriorate.

She’s tired, sick of being in a wheelchair and now relies on oxygen tanks to keep her alive. She can’t do anything except sleep, drink her favourite red wine and receive visitors who all leave knowing they’ll never see her again.

She’s said goodbye, stoically of course, to her book club and her bridge group and many people from the golf club.

We’re having the memorial there and there are no dress requirements except “no denim” and “no spikes”.

We’ll stand around and talk about how great she was, eating the same canapes we had at her 77th birthday party then sing one of her favourite songs, Sweet Caroline by Neil Diamond.

Neil Diamond performs "Sweet Caroline" at the 51st Annual Grammy Awards in 2009 in Los Angeles. Picture: AP Photo/Mark J. Terrill

Her name isn’t Caroline, it’s just a favourite.

I encouraged my kids to write her a letter to say goodbye. I’m proud of the way they rose to the emotional challenge all mentioning how much they will miss her lasagne and her smell – Chanel Mademoiselle.

She’s organised, handing out heirlooms to the grandkids before she dies. It gave her great pleasure to see them wearing the pearl necklace and the Omega watch.

She’s not checking out before she’s completed her jobs list which is very typical of her. All business.

One of the first times I met my husband 28 years ago he told me how much he adored his mother, she really is his favourite person.

Even though he’s an Intensive Care Specialist and death is his core business, he’s all out of sorts.

He’s trying to stay strong, to interpret many of the medical terms and procedures for us non medical family members, but this is the hardest conversation about death he’s ever going to have.

I’m trying to be supportive but I honestly don’t know what to say. I’ve experienced grief before having said goodbye to dear friends and relatives, but I’ve never experienced the weight of somebody else’s grief so intimately.

I’m trying to speed read books about death and dying as I want to be helpful but I’m not sure how his grief is going to look.

It’s like we’re all standing at the bottom of a big wave waiting for it to crash over us and I know there will be damage but I’m not sure how much. It’s weird.

Weirder still was the black humoured conversation with my 20 year old son, we were putting dates into our phone calendars and Saturday came up “so what do I put in the diary Mum, Grandma dying, Grandma dead?”

“Good question, Sid, is there an emoji that will suit, like the coffin or the skull and crossbones? What do you put in the diary?”

Heartbreak. That’s what you put in the diary. Heartbreak.