“Before my mother died of lung cancer, she suffered in our living room. My dad got a hospital bed from somewhere, and that’s where she stayed, getting her morphine.
At night, my mother often felt incredible pain and cried. Because of that, my father ordered us to keep our doors open and wake him up when she cried so that he could take care of her. However, when my mom got weaker, her crying was not loud enough to reach upstairs to our rooms. So, my father got a little stick, which was made out of some kind of light wood. And when my mother hit the stick against her bed frame, it was loud and clear and we could hear her.
That time was the worst of my life. Imagine the psychological torture of hearing your mother crying and suffering all the time. It was especially bad when she had had her dose of morphine, but still suffered. Then, my dad told us to ignore her because we couldn’t do anything and she would soon go to sleep.