The North County Times has published many articles, opinion pieces and letters to the editor regarding end-of-life counseling. For many of us who have watched loved ones slowly die from a terminal illness, the opposition to these counseling sessions is mystifying. Listening to politicians and demonstrators refer to end-of-life counseling sessions as "death panels" is beyond comprehension. The person dying, and family members who must make difficult decisions, desperately need trained counselors to guide them.

When my father was diagnosed with terminal lung cancer in 1980, I received no end-of-life counseling at the Houston medical facility that treated him. I was pretty much on my own as I awaited the inevitable. It was a very lonely and painful time.

I was less involved in my mother's final days because she was in Minnesota in 1995, and I was in California. My sisters met with hospital counselors to develop a plan for what needed to be done during the final days of my mother's battle with leukemia.

Fifteen years later, I flew back to Minnesota to be with my youngest sister during her battle with breast cancer. By then, end-of-life counseling had become very common in the Midwest. Still, when I learned that we had an appointment with a hospital counselor, I was hesitant. I didn't know whether I wanted to hear the counselor tell us that my sister was not going to make it, and we needed to prepare for her passing.

The counselor patiently answered all of our questions. She asked whether my sister had a will or any final wishes, and she suggested that we might want to have a minister or priest with us when the end came. Then she described in detail what we could expect during my sister's final days and hours. She promised that my sister would feel no pain.

We had been clinging to the slimmest of hopes, but she explained to us that at "some point you all have to be prepared to let her go. Your sister also needs to know that it is all right for her to go." The counselor kindly toughened us up to face the end.

When the end came, we were as prepared as anyone can be during the death of a loved one. A different counselor came by the hospital room twice to check on us. He reassured us that my sister "was not in any pain," then he slipped quietly out of the room.

We stood around my sister's bed, as her breathing grew fainter. Someone whispered softly to my sister, "It's OK for you to go." When the last tiny vapor trail appeared and disappeared on her oxygen mask, we knew she was gone.

A priest who had been notified earlier quietly slipped into the room and led us in prayer.

It was difficult, and there were many tears. Still, the counseling session, the priest and the counselor's visits to the hospital room made it easier for us.

We knew what to expect. We knew what we had to do. We knew what my sister needed to hear from us.

How can anyone refer to end-of-life counseling as "death panels?"

DENNIS CLAUSEN writes from Escondido and is an American literature professor at the University of San Diego.