Letting go
Someone close to my family is facing acute kidney failure, and it’s been stirring up memories and reflections—thoughts about the delicate balance between the body’s need for protein and the kidneys’ struggle to process it. How do you even navigate that? Can you?
When my mom was nearing the end of her life, kidney failure was a significant part of her decline. I vividly remember how hard we worked to ensure she got enough protein, even though it felt like a battle we couldn’t win. Protein was essential for her body, but the very thing she needed was something her kidneys could no longer handle.
Talking about this with my wife recently, she shared something that shifted my perspective. She explained that as the body nears the end, it often slows down its metabolism. In palliative care, it’s not unusual for patients to lose interest in food entirely. At first glance, it might seem like a symptom—food doesn’t taste good, or eating feels like a chore. Kidney damage can certainly add to that by creating an overwhelming sense of distaste. But there’s more to it.
As she described it, the body begins to shut down in its own way, almost as if it’s instinctively preparing for the transition ahead. Hunger fades, not just because of a loss of appetite, but because the body no longer needs food in the same way. Metabolism slows, the energy required to process sustenance dwindles, and the person gradually detaches from the act of eating. It’s as though the body knows it’s time to let go, and it starts doing so, step by step.
For families, this can be one of the hardest parts. You watch someone you love turn away from food, and it feels like a signal to fight harder. You insist, you coax, you plead—sometimes you even resort to feeding tubes in a desperate attempt to keep them going. It’s a gut reaction, born from love and the need to do something.
But maybe what’s truly needed isn’t effort or force—it’s acceptance. This doesn’t mean giving up; it means embracing the time that remains with an open heart. Instead of focusing on the meals they won’t eat, focus on the moments you still have together. Sit beside them. Talk. Hold their hand. Cherish the time, however fleeting, without the strain of trying to hold on so tightly.