Death, by Lewis

It is hard to write on a subject with which one does not have any "lived experience".  Like most, although having witnessed many thousands of deaths in the popular media and on television news, I have even less of an idea as to what death will be like than I have on being the President of the United States.

I suggested this topic because it has been on my mind a lot lately, due in no small measure to the recent death of my husband, Laurin.  Also, over the past year or so, I have experienced a series of maladies and mishaps that I can only attribute to a body that is showing signs of breaking down and rusting away, much like cars used to do.  (Incidentally, have you noticed how few rusted out clunkers you see on the streets these days?) 

Every life story has a finite beginning and a finite end.  It is the incredible mish-mash in-between that makes our life stories so unique.  I hear every day about lives cut short by one tragedy or another and I always think how lucky I am to have lived to the relatively ripe age of 68.  Each day, I check the obituary pages of the Denver Post to see how many have died at a lesser age.  It's a small percentage--perhaps 10-15.  The majority of those are men. 

Though four years younger than Mom, Dad died 3-1/2 years before her.  I think he had the advantage, though, in terms of how he died.  He had undergone an upper GI a day or two before.  The x-ray showed a tumor on his stomach.  He likely had just received that news when he went to lunch with some friends and came home.  He was sitting on the toilet, perhaps trying to rid himself of the viscous prep for the test, when he had a massive stroke and died on the spot.  Mom heard only one long groan and it was over.

It was then that my family first realized the seriousness of Mom's dementia.  Within six months, she had been diagnosed with Alzheimer's Disease and institutionalized.  For the next three years, her condition continued to decline, while she wondered the halls of the place where she resided, pushing her walker, not recognizing family or friends, and cursing at those within earshot.  She did not know that she had survived the second and last of her children by her first husband.  I did not have the heart to tell her.

Some people die in their sleep.  Others starve to death or after spending months in a coma or after days of clinging to life after being horribly injured.  Family members have seen their loved one die despite round-after-round of chemotherapy or surgeries at an enormous cost in terms of not only treasure but also emotional capital.

We do not choose when we are born.  Heck, we're not even old enough to choose when we go to the bathroom or what we eat for dinner.  But death is a different matter for most of us.  By then, we're adults and making all kinds of decisions, some of major consequence and some of very little.  We can pick our doctors, our hospital, our spouse, the person who holds medical power of attorney, whether we will take our meds, and, in some cases, whether we want life-prolonging medical procedures or treatment.  We can even refuse to take food or liquid by mouth until we die, which can take up to ten days or so and causes pain as our organs shut down (for which we would be given pain killers).  What we can't do legally in this country is to ask for a dose of something that will end it all painlessly and quickly.

The term "assisted suicide" frightens people.  They seem more comfortable with "dying with dignity" or "aid-in-dying".  Today, loved ones who give aid-in-dying can be charged with murder.  Where are all the Right Wing voices who scream about government overreach when it comes to aid-in-dying?  It seems they were all in favor of keeping Terri Schiavo alive as long as humanly possible, even through recourse to the Florida state courts.  Talk about government abuse of power--and in service of a specific religious faction at that!

Ask a dozen people--around this table, for example--what happens to us after we die and you will likely get at least a handful of different opinions.  Is there anything that happens to us that is more personal than the circumstances of our death, should we be fortunate enough to have a choice?  If I am unable to walk or stand, if I am unable to feed or go to the bathroom by myself, if I do not recognize that the person standing beside me is my own next-of-kin, if I am not able to talk and the only thing coming out of my mouth is drool, I do not want to go on living. 

I do not believe in life-after-death.  I believe that the release of my last breath will feel very much like that moment before I received that swat on my bottom that brought that first gasp for life-giving air.  It is that belief that makes me want to make the most of every day that I have left--to live, to love, to celebrate, to share, to grow, to smell the roses, to simply be.  Then, when that final breath comes, it will be every bit as sweet as my first.

© 13 Oct 2014 

About the Author 

I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and I came to the beautiful state of Colorado out of my native Kansas by way of Michigan, the state where I married and had two children while working as an engineer for the Ford Motor Company. I was married to a wonderful woman for 26 happy years and suddenly realized that life was passing me by. I figured that I should make a change, as our offspring were basically on their own and I wasn't getting any younger. Luckily, a very attractive and personable man just happened to be crossing my path at that time, so the change-over was both fortuitous and smooth.

Soon after, I retired and we moved to Denver, my husband's home town. He passed away after 13 blissful years together in October of 2012. I am left to find a new path to fulfillment. One possibility is through writing. Thank goodness, the SAGE Creative Writing Group was there to light the way.