That Is The End

So Barry sent over a well written essay from the current New Yorker, about the decline and death of the writer's father. It details how the man, an respected doc and scientist, changed from healer to patient, and then faded away.

It reminded me that in my experience, it was like Goldilocks, but without the final "just right..." My Dad died too early, and my Mom too late. Now, religious folks would say that's nonsense -- we all die at the correct time -- when the Big Man calls us home. I don't know.

Sunny began to hallucinate in her final months. She would report nightly visits from her mother and brother -- both long dead. She saw "fires on Miami Beach" and hoped everyone was fine.

I would placate her, and tell her all WAS fine, and indeed her departed people HAD visited her. Who knows -- maybe they had.

The saddest thing was her always asking me about her oldest grandchild -- always her favorite. He never visited her once during the final 11 months of her life. She was worried that she had somehow hurt his feelings, and he was angry at her. I would assure her that wasn't the case -- he was just exceptionally busy.

After a few months, I decided I was finished lying for him, and would just change the subject, which was never hard to do. All I had to do was suggest we go to Mom's favorite spot at Miami Jewish -- the gazebo built among the ancient oaks and ficus trees. They had an ice cream vending machine there, and watching Mom eat her chipwich was joyful.

Very few of my friends have both parents alive. My friend Kenny does -- his are in their 80s, and live now full time in Boynton Beach.

My friend Dana has both parents AND a grandmother -- about to turn 102. But those are the outliers -- typically the men die, and leave widows for years. Norman is an exception -- he lost his beloved mother, and his Dad lives on, wonderfully and vigorously -- next stop will be 92.

Wifey and I are down to the final parent -- my ancient Suegra, who also keeps putting along. She's 94 and my strong opinion is she'll make it to 100.  I just read a report that found Holocaust Survivors indeed survive longer than their "normal" counterparts. I can easily see why.

So I plan to savor the days, as always. The small annoyances are demons to be defeated. And the exquisite moments must be celebrated.

Oh -- and I DO believe in ghosts. In the early morning gloaming, as Yeats called it, I go to fetch the newspaper. Sometimes I see shadows among the trees -- in the shape of humans. They're non threatening -- I just smile and nod, and they float away.

But for now, I'll focus on the living. They're there to be appreciated and loved -- maybe even after the end.