Turn of Events

About a week ago, I spent almost an hour sitting at the foot of a hospital bed while its occupant slept.

During the time, I was reminded of a time when I, as a 6-year old, spent four nights in the hospital for some surgery. Every morning, when I awoke, at the foot of the bed, sitting in a chair, was my mother. I really don’t recall a whole lot about the days there in the hospital, but I also don’t recall any of them in which she wasn’t right there in the room with me.

As that recent hour drew toward an end, the phone in the room rang. I got up and answered it, and as I talked briefly, my mother turned toward the phone and said, “Mike!” having assumed that the person sitting in the chair was my dad.

I’m not sure I’m ready for this turn of events. Fortunately, this particular hospital stay is not the beginning of the end, just a necessary pit-stop to get some things back on track. Still, I realize that those of my parent’s generation are nearing the end of their journey on earth. They are in their 70s now, and some of their siblings have even moved into their 80s. Even the most healthy among them are not without troubles. Unlike the generation before them that had brothers and sisters die of various diseases, flu, etc. in untimely ways, their generation is fully intact. The improvements in medicine and even just in the conditions in which we live have helped them, and us, continue more consistently long in years.

But no one has found the cure for aging. As we travel through life, it is always clear that the end, at least in this sphere, is death. If our consideration is only about how much we can get out of life, we will fear death. If our interaction with others is about what they are to us now, their absence is to be dreaded. We live as if we and every one around us has to be immortal. Then someone dies. Whether it is a tragedy due to accident or sudden health issues, or just from getting old, we are never ready for it. It seems even of those who watch a loved one deteriorate over several years or even months, with cancer, Alzheimer’s, etc. few are truly “ready” for the end. I suspect that even those who seem at peace with it are hiding some of their feelings from others.

I know I’m not really ready for it. I joke that when some calls me “Mr.” I look over my shoulder expecting to find that they were talking to my dad who is standing behind me. But I’m just a few years from being the elder statesman of this clan. First among my siblings and cousins (at least of those who bear the same last name). I hope those few years prove to be quite a few rather than a scarce few.

I considered this post carefully. I do not hold the solutions to the questions raised, but neither am I yet staring at the reality of them. I hope this is just a warning shot across the bow, and not a near miss from an impending full-scale assault. I'm really not ready.