My mum died Dec 28th. We had a great relationship, we were best friends and I was her carer for the last year of her life. Those last few months were really really hard and exhausting and took a huge mental toll on me. My life was the hospice or planning other peoples visits to the hospice, she was a popular lady. That last day, one of her friends had been to see her and then came to me, as he had been doing every morning, and told me her throat had been rattling. I had one of my best friends coming over, who I hadn't seen for ages and really felt I needed to see her.  After she left, I thought to myself I'll just eat something (I hadn't eaten) and then I'll go in, my aunt, who was with her had been asking when I would get there. 5 mins later, one slice into my pizza, I got that dreaded phone call. Part of me had known that morning that today was the day, and I think partly wanting to see my friend but also partly fear stopped me from being there in her final moments. She was always asking for me and my little brother and towards the end, she would get very confused and would think we hadn't visited when we had or would ask us to come in in the middle of the night thinking it was the morning. I'm finding it so hard not to feel guilty even though I know I couldn't have done anything differently. How were we to know? She even shocked the nurses with how quickly she left. But of course I still wish I'd been there and said those things etc but when you're living a life around someone terminally ill, it's just not that simple. Especially in times of pandemic, which I assume you were in too? For me it was just another day of what was quite honestly, hellish, until it wasn't. I take some solace in knowing that my aunt had told her I was coming, so at least hopefully she knew I wouldn't be long but it really stings.