Malori-Marie Musselman

Malori shared her story in September of 2024.

A year and a half ago, I lost my grandfather to pancreatic cancer. We were with him as he lay dying in the hospital for days, until finally we watched him take his last breath. What affected me most from being there with him was the powerlessness he had over the experience. None of us has the option of not dying, but I remember thinking that my grandpa should have had some choice in the matter of how and when. 

My Grandpa Tom was the kind of person who never really seemed to need too much, but gave a lot. He’d help you move, mow your lawn, bring you food. A personal trainer for a long time, Tom was rock-solid, very athletic and fit. His favorite movies were ones starring men like Clint Eastwood, strong male characters who save the day with their quiet strength. As my mother’s stepdad, Tom had always taken good care of my grandmother. Watching them together was watching true love. 

Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, I was watching Tom become the person who needed to be taken care of. 

Around Thanksgiving 2022, Tom was diagnosed with pancreatic cancer after finding blood in his urine. He received one dose of chemo before the doctor informed him that his cancer was too advanced to recommend any further treatment and gave him a three-month prognosis. 

Our seemingly-healthy, athletic and powerful granddad declined so quickly, it was mind-boggling. He had trouble eating, lost a lot of weight, and had no energy. Within weeks, he could hardly get out of bed. When he went on hospice in January 2023, we needed the support of the in-hospital hospice care. Hospice did a good job of keeping him comfortable, but doing so required medicating him so heavily he was asleep most of the time.

During Tom’s last week of life, he managed to rally, crack a couple jokes and ask for more chocolate milk. But a few days later, it was clear he was at the end. 

My grandma, my sister, her husband, my parents and I were all in the room. My mom started to put on “Amazing Grace,” but then she paused. “I don’t think he would want this,” she said. “You know what? Tom would want this” — and she turned on “Knocking on Heaven’s Door,” by Bob Dylan. 

We all had a little giggle at that. It was a moment of acknowledgement of who my grandfather was. But it also got me thinking about how many decisions we had to make for Tom. 

Figuring out hospice at home versus hospice at the hospital, or even what kind of music he might want — these were decisions we had to make because my grandfather wasn’t awake for them. I was constantly asking myself, “What does Tom want? How can I make this better for him?” 

From that experience, I learned a couple lessons. One is that we should all try to make as many of those decisions as we can while we’re still able to make them. It’s so important to be aware of the end-of-life options available to you and have those conversations with your loved ones about what type of care you want at the end of your life in different circumstances. If you don’t have those conversations and end up in a situation where you can no longer speak for yourself, you might leave your loved ones guessing, saying, “I want to give this person what they want, I just don’t know what it is.” If you do have those conversations, they’re going to have better insight into how to make your end of life the best it can be. 

My other takeaway from Tom’s passing is that medical aid in dying should be an authorized end-of-life option here in Texas like it is in other states. I don’t know if Tom would have wanted that option or if he would have used it, but I know that having that option can dramatically change a person’s end-of-life experience. 

Tom had to spend the last days of his life basically knocked out by pain medications, and we had to make decisions for him, hoping it was what he would have wanted. But the option of medical aid in dying allows a person to make those decisions for themselves without having to wait for those decisions to be made for them. I think that’s why this option benefits both those who choose to use it and those who don’t: It gives them back a sense of power. 

If you’re eligible for the option of medical aid in dying, you can decide what you want your end-of-life experience to look like. You can decide what you’re wearing, you can paint your nails, you can watch your favorite movie. You can say your goodbyes to your loved ones. And then the end is not so much something that’s happening to you, it’s something that you get a say in. 

Medical aid in dying gives people a sliver of power in an otherwise powerless situation. It might even change how a person relates to their end of life in a way that mitigates their suffering. I think that option is a comfort everyone facing end-of-life decisions should be afforded.