Timing in Death

I know my Rabbi Yossi would say that the Big Man is always in charge, and ultimately decided who lives and who dies, and when.  It seems to me, though, a mere mortal, that people rarely do it at what seems the right time.

Of course, so many die too young.  When I was in Chicago, over a single weekend, 15 black men, all younger than 30, were killed by silly violence.  My dear friend Dr. Barry, closer to home, is about to embark on his 4 times per year stint in the ICU at the Children's Hospital.  Hopefully none of his young patients will die on his watch, but often that does happen.  In his career, he has had to tell too many families their child passed on Christmas.  At least this year he is working the week before...

On the other end of things, people go on too long.  Last night I went to Jackson South Hospital to see my mother in law, recovering from three fractured hips and a collapsed lung she suffered when she fell.  She turns 92 on Thursday, and now has a stint at rehab coming.  And she's lucky -- she is still pretty sharp, mentally, and strong as an ox.  When she goes, she'll go down swinging...

The anniversary of my Mom's death is coming next April.  It'll be four years since she passed.  She had a great quality of life until she was 89.  It was then she crashed her car, comically, into three others, and lost her driving privileges.  It seemed the following four years went on a very long time.  Her final 11 months were spent in a nursing home, where she sort of floated off.

And yet Rabbi Yossi would tell me that assessment is wrong -- life is sacred, even hers in those final months.  And he's right.  My sister of another mister Mirta tells me that the months she spent with my Mom were extremely profound.  Mirta learned from her sunny attitude -- even as she declined, my mother found joy in simple things: the taste of a hot dog or ice cream, the feeling of the sun on her skin when she was wheeled outside.

I always thank Mirta for all she meant to my Mom the final months, and Mirta tells me the exact opposite is true -- she owes Sunny so much.

So who am I to say?

As usual, humor is the light in dealing with the difficult times.  Jackson South caters to a large Black population -- the surrounding neighborhoods are Richmond Heights and Perrine -- traditional middle class black areas.  As I walked the empty hallways last night, I saw a large poster with the inscription "Humor is Healing" -- Brad Garrett.  Of course, Garrett is the large actor/comedian who played the cop brother on "Everyone Loves Raymond."  After the show, he got  in trouble for repeatedly shouting the N word at a comedy club.  I chuckled at the poster -- I guess the AA community at Jackson South forgives his trespass.

My mother in law's wonderful aide, Gloria, texted Wifey -- she knows we'll have to find a live in, and her time as a day only aide grows short.  She really adores my mother in law, but can't become a live in -- she has a special needs son she needs to be with every evening.  So Wifey will begin that tough search -- just the right person willing to live with a not too easy Holocaust Survivor, to assist her full time, and hopefully prevent any more falls.

But the falls will come, until they won't.  Whatever my silly thoughts about the length of life, the Big Man will chuckle and do his will...