Thinking about the End

I seem to be bombarded with reminders of what happens to people and animals as they get old enough to contemplate their end. The death of my friend Florence, my mother-in-law who spends her days going in and out of the nursing home and the hospital, and my ancient black lab Dylan are constant reminders that old age is definitely not for sissies.

Florence’s daughter Lydia made it possible for her mother to die with dignity in her own home on her own timetable, without the sterility of the medical profession. They really got the hospice thing right. When I went to visit Florence, the conversation never focused on her decline, but rather on the continuing activities that kept her mind active until the end.

My mother-in-law’s case is not nearly so clear-cut. She keeps getting punched down little by little with mini-strokes and deteriorating bones. There is no long-term prognosis for her, although her decline has definitely accelerated this past year. She can no longer be by herself for any period of time, needing help to get to the bathroom and not remembering enough to be safe in her own home. Hopefully her mind will go before her body deserts her altogether.

My dog Dylan is hanging on, although there are days when I doubt his back legs are going to support him. He currently thinks he has died and gone to heaven because he is now eating homemade chicken and rice for each meal. Our other dog Jake looks on with envy and drools as he eats his kibble and wishes he were the old one.

After seeing the movie about Alsheimer’s this past week and being involved with all the above aged beings, I have started to think about my own final end game. I hope my children will be as sensitive to my dignity as Lydia was to her mother’s. I hope I don’t have a protracted period of decline like my mother-in-law’s. I hope someone will make me comfort food like Dylan’s chicken and rice. I hope I will accept my fate with optimism and a resolve to make the most of my last days.