I find myself, this evening, crashed on the couch of my 94-year-old aunt. She is an amazing lady. Throughout her life, she lived a spirit of "just do it." She worked into her late forties. Then she and Uncle Norm (a retired cop) traveled together all around the U.S. for almost 20 years. Her husband had a stroke 25 years ago, and she nursed him day and night for three years until he passed. She was in her late sixties. Then she traveled with my parents until Dad was too sick to travel. At 90 she was going to the local health club, where anyone 90 years old or older had lifetime access for free, and participated in water exercises. She walked 30 city blocks every day...and then 25... and then 20...and then 10...and then 5...and then she walked the hallways at her retirement community. Now she is in assistive living, and she is clearly at the end of her road. Right now she is sleeping. Her heart is failing her and she has decided "no more procedures." She may pass tonight. She may pass tomorrow. Perhaps over the weekend. But she will pass.
When that moment comes, my thoughts will turn to my mother, who is the last surviving member of her immediate family. She was the youngest child. Jean was the oldest. They are the only two remaining. By sometime next week (I suspect), mom will be the only one left, and I wonder what that is like for her. She has us, of course. Five children that love her dearly. But no one left in her generation. Is that lonely? It must be. She says she loves her life - and the time she is getting with us - but I still wonder.
With 7 billion people on this planet, I know that a life ends pretty much every second. But this is a life close to me. We lost our dad 3 years ago. My godmother/aunt a month later. A close friend passed last year spring, and another late last summer. I was at my wife's uncle's bedside nursing him when he passed last October. Another friend died weeks ago. And now this. As I grow older, the pace of death seems to increase. It is not one of the more pleasant parts of growing older.
But still, this is a life to be celebrated. Jean squeezed every ounce she could out of every day. She was always a character, and always a delight. I do not remember her being cranky so much as once, but that may be the fog of fond memories. Whatever it is, here's to Jean. May your last days be peaceful ones, and may you find whatever it is you wish to find on the "other side."
I love you...
Michel
When that moment comes, my thoughts will turn to my mother, who is the last surviving member of her immediate family. She was the youngest child. Jean was the oldest. They are the only two remaining. By sometime next week (I suspect), mom will be the only one left, and I wonder what that is like for her. She has us, of course. Five children that love her dearly. But no one left in her generation. Is that lonely? It must be. She says she loves her life - and the time she is getting with us - but I still wonder.
With 7 billion people on this planet, I know that a life ends pretty much every second. But this is a life close to me. We lost our dad 3 years ago. My godmother/aunt a month later. A close friend passed last year spring, and another late last summer. I was at my wife's uncle's bedside nursing him when he passed last October. Another friend died weeks ago. And now this. As I grow older, the pace of death seems to increase. It is not one of the more pleasant parts of growing older.
But still, this is a life to be celebrated. Jean squeezed every ounce she could out of every day. She was always a character, and always a delight. I do not remember her being cranky so much as once, but that may be the fog of fond memories. Whatever it is, here's to Jean. May your last days be peaceful ones, and may you find whatever it is you wish to find on the "other side."
I love you...
Michel
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