as i “celebrate” my 58th birthday today, i’m reflecting back on the five-day visit i just spent with my 88-year-old dad in rossmoor, the “adult” community in walnut creek just east of the san francisco bay.

i call my dad joe. that’s his name.

 

we lost my mom in 1999; suddenly, she had a stroke on august 9th, never recovered, and we took her off life support on august 28th. she seemed to die peacefully.

 

 

since my mom’s death, my dad has been, by turn, overtly grievous, casually pursuant of other female companionship, mostly out of loneliness, and unconsciously getting closer and closer to his own death.

 

my dad is a gentle and generous man. he spent his entire life devoted to his wife and children. however, since retiring from the garment industry in new york in about 1980, he has indulged himself in spending time with things he enjoys: playing harmonica, swimming, and throwing ceramic pots and bowls. these things have given him a zest and enthusiasm for life, even after my mother passed away.

 

my father is also a perfect example of how the miracles of modern medicine have kept a human being alive past his ability to enjoy a “quality of life”. my dad has survived three heart attacks, two aneurysm operations, prostate cancer, and now he’s diagnosed with terminal congestive heart failure. he often ponders endlessly and guiltily over why my mother went so quickly and suddenly, when it was he who was always “sick”.

 

joe lives on a diet of about thirteen different bottles of pills. one for thinning his blood, one for controlling his heart rate, one for making him sleep, one for… you get the picture. he rarely has a good day anymore. every day he wakes up with a crushing pressure in his head, and he sits around all day waiting and hoping for this pressure to diminish itself. he’s seen a endless battery of doctors, and none of them can determine whether his headaches are from the side effects of one or several of the meds, or whether they’re simply from the heart’s inability to keep pumping. joe is past repair; no more routing or plumbing can be done.

 

it’s sad to see him sit around the house waiting for his headaches to come or go. he doesn’t swim, he doesn’t pot, and the air he needs to blow his sweet harmonica, whenever he has the courage to try, is no longer available to him in sufficient quantity. he has “meals on wheels” delivered to him five days a week to cut down on the shopping and cooking, and although he can still drive, it is usually to cardiac rehab or to another doctor’s appointment, rather than to the pool or to pottery or harmonica club.

my dad and the “lucky” seniors like him who can afford it, and are blessed with the privilege of health insurance, are costing this society a crippling fortune. modern medicine has made him a bionic man, keeping him alive long past the time he would have been able to live in another time or in another culture. he’s alive but not well. what price is he, and are we, paying for the luxury of life?

 

when is the right time to die? when will this society let go of its morbid fear of death? how can we learn to accept dying as an integral and natural part of life? other cultures do a much better job than we do. more “primitive” cultures. “third world” cultures. in mexico, the day of the dead is a day of celebration when the dearly departed souls come back for a visit. in tibet, they study the book of the dead for an entire lifetime to prepare themselves for the transition to death and beyond. in my wife’s country, indonesia, particularly in the hindu bali culture on the tiny island east of java, death is the pinnacle of the life cycle. the spectacular firebrand cremation ceremony celebrates the departure of this life to the greater life beyond.

 

yet here we are in the most powerful society in the history of mankind, holding onto life like desperate, fearful children. we do not want to die. we do not want to get old. we want to live forever. we want to preserve our lives as long as medically, although perhaps not humanly, possible. religion doesn’t seem to help. how could it when we have created a punishing, omnipotent god who we fear, and who tells us we might very well be going to hell? or, who tells us, if we’re “good”, we’ll be going to heaven; but for some reason, we don’t quite actually believe.

 

will i have the courage to take my own life when i no longer have any quality to it? or am i just a big-mouthed, 58 year old hypocrite who will want to hold on as long as possible? i hope not. i hope i will practice what i’ve preached. i’ve already spent a lifetime trying to do so. but dying….?

who knows?

 

sure, i feel sad and depressed about the quality of my father’s life. i don’t want him to die. i’ll miss him. and i’ll have to get into the wrangle of wills, estates, and inheritance squabbles when he does. but his ill-health, his lack of quality of life, makes me have to wrestle more with the reality of death. his. my own. more with the idea of letting go.

 

my dad has prepared as much as possible for his departure. he has executed power of attorney, a living trust, a will revised at least five or six times, but – joe is not ready to let go. he’s not ready to die. instead, he prefers to spend the days hoping his time can be filled up, watching tv, waiting for his meals on wheels, waiting to hear from my sister, his daughter, his grand children. he hopes every day that he will recover his health and will be well again.

 

we all hope the same for him. but we, and the doctors, are no longer optimistic. sooner or later, joe, my father, will die. i am trying to educate and instruct myself that it’s okay. tell myself he’s lived a wonderful, rich life, full of love, with a unique and beautiful marriage, with opportunity, privilege, and again, significantly, much love. he has loved fiercely and he is loved by many.

 

when it’s time for him to go, i hope we all, joe included, will have the courage and grace to accept, surrender,

and let go…………

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