A Sneak Preview

Death is not the most pleasant thing to think about, but since Hospice is on my speed dial and I'm a card-carrying member of the Cremation Society of Illinois, it tends to come up more often that I'd like.  At 85 with end-stage Alzheimer's and otherwise deteriorating health, I know Dad could go anytime, and spending so much time in nursing homes and hospitals keeps it constantly on my radar. 


Sherman, mid-1970s

 I actually don't really have much firsthand experience with death, which I see as both a blessing and a hindrance.  My only grandparent to see me out of diapers was Sherman, my mother's father, and he passed at 95 quickly and peacefully when I was 14.  Mom went to the services in California, and that was that.  I'm sure I grieved and processed it on some level, but while I did love Sherman I didn't really know him that well.  In the past few years I've gone to three memorial services, but I've never attended an actual funeral. 

A few months ago I spent an afternoon in the Cremation Society's office and made all of the arrangements for after Dad is gone.  The undertaker was caring, thorough, patient, and understanding.  She answered the bevy of questions I had, and walked me through the timetable of when things happen in detail.  Minutes, hours, days, it was all spelled out.  Choosing the arrangements and accessories, for lack of a better word, was one of the hardest things I have ever done and I had to get up and take a walk before signing the final papers.  In retrospect, I'm now so thankful I have everything set up in advance- those aren't the kind of decisions to make in the heat of the moment, and there's some sense of comfort knowing it's all taken care of. 

I wasn't planning on visiting Henry yesterday, but got done early with other things and decided to spread some Halloween cheer at the nursing home.  As I walked towards the unit, a woman wearing all black and pushing a gurney followed me towards the door.  When we went through and I saw the pastor and a social worker standing there, I realized what was happening- a resident down the hall from Dad had passed about 20 minutes earlier and the undertaker had come to retrieve the body.  I froze, trying my hardest not to cry for fear of being a distraction.  I ran in to see Dad, who was muttering at the football game, then stepped back into the hallway to compose myself.  I was overwhelmed with emotions- sadness, fear, grief, and the sense that these abstract, eventual events that had been playing out in my mind could and will actually happen.  It hadn't seemed real before, but all of a sudden it became very clear that Dad is not only going to die, but will Be Dead.  As I turned to go back into his room, the undertaker started slowly walking towards me, this time pushing the gurney with the bodybag full.  The pastor and family were close behind, and I was amazed at how well-composed they seemed.  Meanwhile, I was fighting back tears and having trouble breathing.   

The son later told me that he was confident his mother was in a better place, and he felt an extreme sense of calm and peace.  I didn't know how to respond, because "I'm sorry" or "You're in my thoughts" seemed to almost contradict what he was expressing.  When he left, he did say that he was touched by my relationship with Dad and loved watching us sing together.  For the past 24 hours I've been in a panic- I keep playing over yesterday's events in my head, only this time it's Dad and me instead of the other family.  I know that whatever our experience is, when the time comes, it will be authentic and unpredictable.  I've written in the past about the importance of appreciating the life while it's here instead of dwelling on what is to come.  Being so close to it, however, has left me more unsettled, distressed, empty, and fearful than I could have imagined.