Category: DEATH

Today had to arrive. I’ve thought long and hard about pulling this trigger. It’s something I must do without any mental reservation. Evasion for sure to this point. Will I live long enough to justify taking this action? Life decisions are revolving around this question more and more. Does it really make any sense to go to a dentist for a checkup? How many more years will I be able to drive? Safely? I make the same calculation on many subjects. However, this is a big one. An expensive one.

For the first time in 19 years I’ve bought a new car. Fifth in my lifetime. I had another judge once tell me he bought four cars in an 18 month period. I averaged a new car every 13+ years. Each car served its purpose as long as gas went in the tank, a few tire changes were made and washer fluid was added on a need to use basis. Yes, each received some oil changes but that process is greatly over-rated. But a car can’t last forever. I won’t either so that is why calculations must be made. If I can’t drive this car for at least six years I will really be mad; at myself or my cardiologist. The car will only be half broken in if I die too soon.

For my last car purchase I had a car buying program find the car, send the money and all I had to do was go pick it up. ( That car still runs and is my summer transportation.) USAA stopped that program and that is another reason I dithered about going solo to but a car. I have made 3 trips to dealersips; 3 more than I wanted. I’ve been pitched at least 7 cars that don’t match my criteria. No one listens. Six cars existed but were gone poof before I could purchase. My trim and color are too popular I guess. But, today’s the day. A 4th trip to a dealership/.

I’m a bit on edge though. A new car is going to have sensors, warnings, controls and a screen that make no sense to me. I may need to live the six years to learn how to operate the vehicle. My present car needs to turn a key, push one of two pedals, shift forward or backward, flip on wipers/lights and press a button for radio/tape/cd. The rest on my time is spent concentrqating on driving. That part has not changed since driver’s education classes in high school. On that part I’ve done well….no moving violations in 65 years. It’s as if modern technology awaits to ruin my record. ( “I was looking at a screen that was placed off to the side of my vision as a distraction” rings hollow as a legal excuse.)

Of course, Papa can ignore it all as I often do with most change. Well, it’s best not to complain. As long as the car goes from point A to point B and has an audio compatible with Doris Day, Buddy Holly etc. all will be fine.

If you think Papa may again be lost in the past with a 1950’s movie, this post is not about the ultra cynical press of today. Just as in the film there is for sure a fast buck to be made with today’s shameless news media. However, today I wish to address another humorous aspect of death.

For years when friends and family discussed someone who recently passed I’d say we are all one serious diagnosis away fom the end. After nods all around, the discussion would turn to hoping one dies while asleep. No one wants the long, painful death. That is when I’d pipe in and claim my early onset heart disease was my “ace in the hole.” No lingering death for me. Over and out. I take strange comfort from my four1988 CABGs.

My April 7th post was about humor in the face of the final curtain. In some respects humor faded for Papa when he migrated west. I suspect this is one of the first places humor went to die. However, today I’m talking about actual death. Who better to discus the subject with than my brother again. He has his own medical issues but he is solid with the family’s genetic heart condition. Heart by-pass, valves, re-dos, and congestive heart failure. It’s an imprssive check list. So, during a recent telephone conversation he told about slowing down. Not feeling peppy. Lousy at some times.

Then he said it. “When is that old ace in the hole going to kick in?” Humor is still alive. We laughed of course. So much of our life together has revolved around jokes and snappy come backs. Banter is good for the soul. I know that the times and culture has changed but it gives me great joy when I hear one of you with a good zinger. It proves your minds are working. Gives hope. It’s hard to bury a good sense of humor.

Every so often humor unexpectedly pays Papa a visit. Today is the second round of the Master’s Golf Tournament. Rain and trees fell in Augusta. And, just like clockwork my older brother called with his annual inquiry/complaint. “Why isn’t more of the Master’s televised?” It is a pet peeve of his. Other golf tournaments have near non-stop coverage. He hates that the Master’s is doled out in drips and drabs.

That is how another welcomed phone conversation started today. For some reason that brother and I have been on the same wave length all our lives. During a conversation a family friend looked at me and said she was curious about what is going on inside my head. I can’t say whether being on a mental path less traveled is an apt description of me but it does warm my heart. Situations that may seem routine to others often pull me towards humor or, more happily at times, towards the absurd. When others may hear me as a bit off target Brother John gets it.

Today a satisfied sense of humor arose at an opportune time. Aftre we had finished with the golf talk we went on to family, the Badgers, Aaron Rodgers, and the weather. And, to health of course. He’s been in poor health these past few years. My stiff joints pale in comparision to his medical issues. He said he was feeling quite poorly today. But, he says he usually feels lousy anyway. However, today felt different. A bit foreboding. He wondered if that is how it feels towards the end. Maybe today is the day kind of feeling.

Then he recovered and laughed, “I’ve never died before so I can’t rightly say. I’ll only get to do it once.”

I enjoyed our laugh together. We both got it. It’s a good way to look at life. Or, death. It was a good way to wrap up our conversation until next time.

I once wrote: “Hospitals are where people go to die.” Not always true of course. Poignant? For sure for me. The thought arose for me when I was twelve years old. My beloved grandfather had stayed at our home for two or three months; dying of cancer. For the first eight years of my life, my family lived in an upstairs flat above “Pap”. He was my refuge at times. He was a widower. I’d sneak to his kitchen by the back stairs in search of stinky cheese. I always loved the smells of food from his flat. Yes, I’d revel in limburger cheese. Or, aged brick cheese. He also had sausages. He had the first TV we ever watched. Such viewings were accompanied by bowls of candy raisins.

At any rate my mother was taxed with caring for Grandpa. He spent the last weeks of his life in my brother’s upstairs bedroom. At the end he was taken to the hospital. It was hard to watch. I stayed in my room. When he and his attendants were outside I sneaked to a window overlooking our front walk. There he was; flat on his back wrapped in a white blanket. For an instant, just before he was placed in an ambulance, he looked up, saw me, smiled and gave a slight wave of his hand. I placed my hand on the window pane but I cannot tell you if he reacted; tears blocked my view. That was the last time I saw him. In those days children generally were not allowed as visitors at hospitals. But, that is where he went to die in my mind.

Another saying about death that stuck with me was “Everyone gets dead sometime” from a John Wayne movie. Reality! If you prefer another thought, I remember reading a quote from a philosopher type who basically said that although he knew full well that we all will die, in the far back of his mind he nursed the thought that he might be the first exception in history.

I never found death to be creepy as in a scary movie. My other grandfather owned a funeral home. I visited him there at times. He’d take us to church in his big Cadillac; gas pedal to the metal “to blow out the carbon”. I played up and down the stairs of the business and around the casket displays with my brothers and cousins. I remember being at wakes and funerals at an early age. I believe I was sixteen when I started working there. Carried caskets, cleaned, cut grass etc. I went on my first corpse pickup within a year. (I believe I washed my hands an extra time or two that night.)

All in all death is not scary movie fear. Yet, it is profoundly sad when it hits home. I found the devilish part to be that it is like a curtain being dropped. Never to be raised again. Ever. That loved person is gone. Forever. Sudden and jarring. There is no getting around that fact. No denying. You need to grieve. You will grieve. You should grieve. But, you will recover. You must recover. You will get to a point in which you are bathed in memories. Healthy, happy memories. Your life still needs to be lived. Towards your final curtain of sadness for a family who has come to love and cherish you. Decades from now. When you are a beloved grandmother or grandfather.