Sometimes, death is a shock and, sometimes, it is a relief. When my father died about a year ago, there was a suddenness to it that was not expected. We knew he was going to die; no one escapes cancer forever, but the degree of the downward slope was more severe than anyone thought it would be. Then came my mother.
There is a huge gulf between physical deterioration and the non-physical kind. The latter is especially nasty business, watching a loved one gradually lose the ability to do just about everything independently while slowly fading away from the world they knew. The only variable is how long the fade process takes. By the time the end comes, the person you knew has long since left this earth and when their final breath is let out, there is a bit of sadness but, bad as it may sound, there is mostly relief. Relief certainly for the individual, who not too long ago, was also aware of what was happening and not too happy about it. And relief for everyone else.
When that loved one no longer remembers who you are, who your siblings are, who your children are, who her husband was, and has reverted to early childhood remembering only her own immediate family, it is fair to say the individual is no longer with you. And so it is. And that is the end of the maudlin portion of this.
In looking back at old pictures, I am going to remember a woman who enjoyed life, enjoyed her kids and friends, enjoyed going back to the old country and rekindling old relationships, and enjoyed her husband. I will remember a woman who not only had an opinion on just about everything but also believed that you were entitled to it. If mom's life were a book, it would have to be called "The Last Word" because no matter the discussion, she was going to get it. I like to say that at least one my kids has inherited that and that this trait skips a generation; my wife is not so sure.
It is a bit odd to look up and suddenly realize you are an orphan, which sounds a bit ridiculous for a 50-year old man. Orphans are little ragamuffins from 1930s movies where Andy Rooney plays a character wise beyond his years, street smart urchins schooled in the unpleasantries of life. In reality, most of us wind up wearing that title at some point and it is part of the natural order. Never being an orphan only means one thing, dying before your parents which is about the worst thing I can imagine.
I am going to believe that mom is at peace, bending dad's ear again. Of course, he had more than a year to rest up so he should be okay. A lifetime of pictures and memories will erase the difficulty of the past several months, and I'll leave it with this - if you or an elderly person that you know has even an inkling of "senior moments" going on, make a doctor's apppointment immediately if not sooner. The last thing you want is for your kids to find out after-the-fact that mom or dad or grandma is mentally fading away. I've read too many stories of families being ripped apart over how to care for the person who can no longer care for him/herself. Get the check up and make a plan; it will be the thing you can do for the ones left behind.
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