We Brought Him Home to Die

It’s been over a year since my family and I have been battling with my dad’s illness, a battle that has become one of the most horrific experiences we have faced as a family. Four major strokes, each more devastating than the last, have left my parent in a place no child ever wants them to be: frail and silent. Nearly two years ago, after a visit home, I wrote about the grief children experience as they watch their parents grow old—a topic that is not always talked about.

This fourth episode, unlike the others, has shaken me deeply. Perhaps it’s because this time, my father is a decade older, and I’ve been forced to confront the unavoidable truth that my father may never heal completely.

“Mummy is calling you,” I heard. I rushed, only to walk into a nightmare. That night marked the beginning of what has since been a back-and-forth between the Accident & Emergency and ICU units of hospitals, spaces that have unintentionally become far too familiar.

I had just returned home that night, a new home my parents as just retired into with a lot excitement of being closer to family after many decades of the hustle of bustle of Lagos, Nigeria. I hadn’t spent time with my family in so many years, and this was supposed to be a new chapter, a chapter I had dreamt of.

“Your dad’s condition is critical; we’ll do our best.”

– Benjamin Anyanwu, MD | American Board of Psychiatry and Neurology. Board Certified; General Neurology, Vascular Neurology, Neurology and Neurosurgical Critical Care.

Although it’s a what no one ever wants to hear about their relative but that was my reality. The “best” isn’t enough when you’re intubated and bedridden in the ICU, consciousness hanging by a thread, and there’s little left to hold onto.

But here I am, praying that the spirit of my father holds on for a little while longer. My mother, bless her heart, still clings to the idea of full recovery. She hasn’t yet accepted the cruel truth I have had to face: Daddy isn’t going to get better. Not in the way we wish. All we can do now is take care of him until his final breath.

It’s a painful realization to make — that survival, for my father, is no longer the goal. I have accepted that sooner or later, he will leave us to join his ancestors.

But the question that haunts me is: WHEN WILL THAT BE?

Let me pause here to tell you about his illness – what it is, and why it devastates families like mine. Stroke is a leading cause of death and disability worldwide, and the statistics sent chills down my spine. Each year, there are about 16 million first-time stroke cases, leading to 5.7 million deaths globally. Africa bears the heaviest burden, where annual stroke incidence reaches 316 per 100,000 people, with three-year fatality rates soaring up to 84%.

In Nigeria, our health system fails more often than it saves. Studies show that many stroke patients prefer herbal centers to hospitals because they have lost faith in conventional care. It is no surprise when one witnesses firsthand, as I have, the neglect, the delays, and the inadequacies that have become the norm.

My father has endured more than any man should. Since November 2023, his journey has been marked by seizures, loss of consciousness, and a diagnosis that shattered us: bi-hemispheric ischemic strokes – an acute right temporo-frontal stroke alongside chronic left ACA/MCA strokes. These were compounded by encephalopathy, persistent seizures, and complications like bladder obstruction due to an enlarged prostate. Despite the relentless efforts of specialists and months of neurorehabilitation, his condition has barely improved.

What does this mean for us?

It means we watch as his body fights yet slips further away.

He’s had four episodes now. The most recent struck while he was still recovering from the third. His blood pressure shot through the roof, triggering seizures that deprived his brain of oxygen, sending him into a coma. Since that night, he hasn’t regained consciousness.

Do you know what it feels like to speak to someone who can no longer respond? To hold their hand, hoping for a sign of recognition, only to be met with stillness?

The hard truth is when a person reaches this stage, they’re as good as gone. All that can be done is to keep them comfortable and care for them until the end. It’s a cruel reality!

A stroke doesn’t just take your loved one, it robs them of their dignity independence, and essence. Here we are, my father lying still, his body a mere shadow of the strong proud man I grew up with. Watching him go through this has been one of the most painful experiences of life but I have made peace with what is coming. He will join our ancestors – maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but soon.

At this stage, all that can be done is care — painful, loving care until his last breath. I cannot help but mourn him already. He was and still is my hero. A quiet, resilient man who gave everything to his family. Watching him in this state is a grief I can’t describe. I don’t know if it’s harder to watch him go, or to know he’s suffering while still alive.

Yes, his body may still be here, but the man I knew is fading.

For anyone reading this, take care of your health, your loved ones, and your parents. Treasure them while you can because life is as fragile as it is unpredictable.

And if you pray, please say a prayer for my dad, he needs a miracle.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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