Death Genes, by Gillian

Our very own favorite quote-maker, Benjamin Franklin, held that death and taxes were the only certainties ....... in ...... well ...... life. Sorry Ben, but that's not quite right. Many many people escape taxes by fair means and foul; legal and illegal. I have never yet known, nor even heard of, anyone escaping death.

It comes, inevitably, to us all.

When we are young it's something, though inevitable for sure, that happens to other people; the old, the sick, the careless, the unfortunate. But not to us. Oh, sure, some day. But not now.

As we age, that inevitability looms larger. It no longer peeps over a distant horizon but leaps up on the front porch, like some Halloween specter, yelling, "Booooo!" It hides, ready to jump out at us, in our TV, mailbox, newspaper and telephone. It lurks around every corner. With the death of every loved one, friend, casual acquaintance, or even that celebrity who seems always to have been there, it comes closer.

They say that the death of your second parent is one of the most traumatic events in life: loss squared. I have no argument with that. Suddenly bereft; orphaned. Oh yes, that must be dreadful when you're six. But it's not a whole lot better when you're sixty-six. It hurts like hell. You are left with no-one who knew you that well or for that long. It's like someone cut off your leg, and you had to start all over again learning how to walk. You have to start all over again learning how to live, cut adrift in reality. That's how it felt to me, anyway.

And then, suddenly, it seems, it's almost time for your turn.

And, after all, death doesn't seem so bad. Even if you have no religion, or perhaps because you do, death remains a mystery; but not such a very scary one. Unless, perhaps, you truly believe in Hell Fire and Damnation, in which case it must be just terrifying. But for me, anyway, simply facing the Great Unknown is really no scarier than getting on a plane headed for some place I've never been before and have no idea what to expect.

A shrug. A nap.

"Oh, well. We'll find out when we get there."

At this stage, I think, most of us do not really fear death itself, but rather the manner of our dying. Please, we scream inside our heads to a God we may or not believe in, don't let me get something like Lou Gehrig's Disease, fully cognizant, feeling death come piece by agonizing piece. On the other hand, please don't let me have alzheimer's and lose that very cognizance.

In their eighties, my parents became the worst possible combination. My father was physically fit as a fiddle, but had dementia. My mother was smart as a tack but had, after a broken hip, been confined to a wheelchair. They were rendered totally incapable of looking out for each other, and ended up in separate wings of the same nursing home.

But, in the end, I have damn good death genes.

My dad died first; peacefully, in his sleep, as the phrase goes, but in his case it was true, or so they assured me. He had suffered little, physically, and somewhere in the night his heart had simply stopped.

My mother, a couple of years later, was awoken as she was every day, by an assistant serving her morning cup of tea in bed. (Do I need to remind you that this is a Nursing Home in England?)

When they returned to get the cup, it was empty and Mum was dead. What a way to go!

She looked so at peace, the undertaker told me. Of course, he was a lifelong friend, so he might have been saying what I wanted to hear, but I choose not to think so.

My very best hope is that I might emulate my mother's death, though I have a longtime recovering-alcoholic friend who says it's more likely that in my case I will swig a pint and then fall off my barstool.

Whatever!  As long as it's swift and sudden.  And for that I have very good genes!

© 13 October 2014 

About the Author 

 I was born and raised in England. After graduation from college there, I moved to the U.S. and, having discovered Colorado, never left. I have lived in the Denver-Boulder area since 1965, working for 30 years at IBM. I married, raised four stepchildren, then got divorced after finally, in my forties, accepting myself as a lesbian. I have now been with my wonderful partner Betsy for 25 years.