Death. (Got your attention?) I’ve been dwelling, pondering, and possibly even fixating on death lately. Not necessarily mine, though that has crept in from time to time during my mental contemplations, but in general: cemeteries and how they work for example (which is fascinating once you dig into it 😊). I believe it was two, no three, things that led me here; I pass by a large and old cemetery during my daily walks, I also walk past a funeral home and witnessed several in-process funerals, and last but not least – my cardiocation last summer.
While I am not 100% fully healed, I have reached a point where I have mostly returned to “normal”. I’ve spent an overwhelming amount of time and energy into getting well again, on healing. Right from the start I channeled all my thoughts, efforts, and energy into a “find it, fix it, and move forward” dogma. While there were moments of concern and worry, I never focused on the negative “what if” aspect of my situation, but instead focused on dealing with it and getting healthy and strong again.
But now that I am pretty much there, thoughts of what could’ve been continue to randomly drift through my idle thoughts. I watched a TV show last night where a guy, in my age range, was suffering from COVID complications and was being helped out of the house to be driven to the ER and he asked them to stop so he could turn around to “look at my house one last time because I may never see it again”. And that resonated in me; partially over the emotions evoked by his moment and partially because I didn’t do that. Of course, I didn’t get that chance because I went right from the stress test to the ER but I am sure you get my point.
I’ve been trying to relive the morning of my surgery. I know I was stressed and nervous but mostly over just wanting it to be done and to move on to recovery. But it was a big moment in my life and I think I should have responded to that more… appropriately? Memorably? I do know my wife and daughter were there; for a while, it didn’t look like they would be able to be there in time. But I don’t even recall if I walked from my bed to a waiting bed in the hallway or if they wheeled me out. I don’t remember my “final” words to them as I headed off but in retrospect that could well have been the last time I spoke with them and I should have had something deep and meaningful and lasting on my way out. But I don’t even know what I said. I suspect something like “see you later” and hopefully “I love you”.
Really, what I said isn’t important because I came back and the moment was exactly as I expected: transitional. I came back. But I shudder when I think about what it would’ve been like for them if I hadn’t. My wife, daughter, son-in-law, and both their children were all staying in a hotel in Boston 70 miles from home. It was totally and completely disruptive to their lives and what if I were wheeled out and not ever wheeled back in again? How horrible for them to have to deal with all of that? And my son so far away who had already taken time out of work just the day before only to have to do it again to help his mom and sister through the mess. Death is just so violently disruptive.
The other day I was walking past one of the two funeral parlors on my walking route and there was a funeral (or wake) in process. Watching the people walk so slowly and somberly into the building almost overwhelmed me. I felt their pain and sorrow even from one hundred feet away. And I pictured that being my family, walking in and feeling that pain at my loss. I still feel the loss that came with my dad’s death – it remains seared into me. I am so thankful that I didn’t put my family through that horrible moment and I say this knowing that the day absolutely will come that I do put them through it; just glad it wasn’t this time.
The same thoughts flood my soul when I walk past the cemetery up the road. Don’t get me wrong, I love cemeteries, I have always been at peace with them. Unless of course, I am there to put someone in the ground which is never a peaceful moment. Because the memory is likely permanently locked up deep within me, I don’t exactly know how bad it was for me at age 4 when we buried my mom. I have been told I was inconsolable, which makes complete sense of course. The day we had the inurnment for dad in Arlington was a mixed bag. Arlington is vast and so impeccably cared for and tended to that you immediately feel immense comfort being there. And the people there are incredibly kind – the Ladies of Arlington are like a kiss from heaven above. But at the same time, you are saying your final farewell to a loved one so….
The ceremony for dad was long and filled with emotionally powerful moment after moment. I fought tears through most of, but was unable to fully contain them several times. Bear in mind that this moment took place four months after he died, so there had been ample time to internally reconcile his death for me, but even with that, it was emotionally exhausting. An exceptional cemetery.
The cemetery I walk past is nowhere as large as Arlington of course, I believe I recently read that there are 10,000 burials in this one, compared to 400,000 in Arlington. This one is a small-town cemetery dating back to 1851. It includes burials found in private lots throughout the town and relocated as progress such as roads and infrastructure gobbled up land. But it has sadly fallen into disrepair.
As I passed it the other day I got to wondering about the reality behind cemeteries: who owns them, who maintains them, and how do they make money to pay for the upkeep and taxes. Well, turns out they fall into categories: religious cemeteries are run by the churches, public are run by local and or state governments, and Veteran are run by the Federal government. And then there are the private ones, such as the one I walk by.
The “owners” were all the people who had purchased burial plots through the years and it was run by a board of trustees. Money collected from sales of lots, burials, and headstones were deposited into trust funds intended to fund the care of the gravesites and maintenance of the cemetery. Over time most of the board members died leaving just a caretaker who lived rent-free in a house on the grounds. But his health had deteriorated over time and the money had basically dried up; what money they brought in was used to pay his salary (sometimes) and for repair and maintenance to the grounds and equipment.
The cemetery fell into a really state of disrepair and neglect and people complained. Eventually a new board was created with the Town Manager as Director. The town is involved as they own a large tract of land in the cemetery but not to the extent that it is, or will become, a public cemetery. I tell you all this as it is (to me at least) interesting but is it is just background info.
As I walked past this cemetery over time, I began to wonder about who the owner was and how they paid the taxes etc. which led me to research it. And I found this sad tale. Somewhere along the last 100 years or so, the board of directors failed in their obligation to maintain the funding to the cemetery. Either through inadequate oversight, poor investments, or perhaps even something more nefarious the money that should have perpetuated the care and maintenance dried up and disappeared. There is a lot more small-town drama in this story than I have talked about here but these are the pertinent facts. I’ll be watching to see how the new board handles the cemetery and by what means they can generate funding for care and maintenance.
When you think about it, there are two different forms of death: sudden and prolonged – or better phrased, the unexpected and the expected. My mother’s death was both prolonged and expected. I was urged to fly out to Colorado by my brother who stated that her passing was imminent. I dropped everything and flew out as did my father and my other brother. We all spent time with her and shared our love with her and then had to return home. And happily, it turned out to not be her time after all; she recovered and lived several more years after that before she passed peacefully.
My mother-in-law was also prolonged and while she didn’t really suffer, we were glad when she was finally at peace. However, both my father-in-law and my dad were unexpected and quite sudden. In fact my father-in-law, while ill, was doing well with no hint that his life’s story was upon its final page. He went to the hospital by ambulance before dawn one Monday and was gone by the evening. He did however, last long enough that almost every child and grandchild (and I think maybe even some of the great-grandchildren) were able to say their farewells; although I am not at all sure he knew any of us were there).
My father was ill and was declining but was still up and about. Then one day he backed into a retaining wall, got out to look at the damage, and then fell, breaking his hip. He went into the hospital, and then a rehab facility, and appeared to be on his way to recovery. But a short time after I got a call that he was back in the hospital and not doing well at all. I dropped everything and drove down there, planning to speak with the doctors and understand and to try to facilitate his treatment. That was on a Wednesday.
When I first saw him in his room, I took his hand and his blue eyes opened and flashed over at me. That was the last time that they did. He slipped back into a non-responsive state and never came back. They spoke to me shortly after we arrived and they apprised me of how dire his condition was – essentially a lost cause. They recommended hospice comfort care for his final time here and gave me a consent form for the same that I loathed signing. And after a death-watch for the next four days, he quietly left us.
As for me, I am quite certain that had I not survived the heart blockage(s), it would have been a slap in the face surprise to my whole family. I was (seemingly) in good shape, hiking and splitting wood and spreading loads of soil in the yard. The calcium scan that revealed I had plaque build-up was a warning shot across the bow to which I think we all paid little heed. And for myself, while I still don’t think I had any real symptoms of cardiac distress while hiking, I have to believe there was were signs I was likely either missing or ignoring.
As you probably know if you are a regular reader, I had hiked over 28 miles in the week before being hospitalized: one hike of 14.3 miles and six days later one hike of 14.1 miles. And not easy hikes either, both consisting of at least moderately challenging terrain and elevations. And three days after that last hike I was on my way to the ER for admission to the hospital. They were all extremely concerned that the big one – the widow-maker – was imminent; just one or two steps in front of me. And while my opinion isn’t really relevant, I disagree; I still think that if I had been able to convince them to let me go home and had gone for a hike that same day, I’d have completed it just fine. But release me they wouldn’t.
And perhaps I am wrong. Perhaps that next hike would have been my last. And they would’ve sucked for all of us. Go hiking – don’t come home – don’t answer texts or calls – wife pacing trying to figure out what to do and who to call. Ugh. Eventually she’d call somebody, probably 911. And they have to use technology to ping my phone and figure out where I was. And then, send searchers out into the woods to look for my body. Ugh. Then the phone calls and all the chaos that comes with it. Ugh. So much better this way!
I just watched a St. Jude’s commercial and it hit hard. This one was a 5yo boy and they showed him playing in his yard one minute and intubated in the hospital the next. And I was suddenly overwhelmed with the emotions of all the emotions and feelings I – a reasonably strong and balanced old man – felt in the hospital and then what this poor 5yo must be going through. And it horrified me. I remember waking up in a state of confusion – not sure where exactly I was, how I was, how long I was “out of it”, and of course, in pain, in places I didn’t understand why they hurt. Now imagine all of this at age 3 or 5 or 6 – it would have to be terrifying. I marvel at their strength and resiliency.
I began writing this post weeks ago; we are now one week from Easter. Since starting it I’ve been to the cardiologist (excellent check-up and no return for a year), have increased my daily/weekly walking (slowly warming weather is making that so much easier), and had a couple of really decent hikes. I’ve dropped a size in my pants (at some point over the last months) but happily, my weight has remained almost exactly the same. I’ve also begun lifting weights again so I am feeling really good.
Despite that, I find myself dealing with frustration regularly; too much news and social media I suspect. While I am quite opinionated, I have worked tremendously hard throughout my life to have and hold an open mind. But as we age we become more rigid (in many ways lol) including the mind – at least I do. Try as I might I find myself less tolerant of thoughts and ideas contrary to what I hold of value to myself. For example the FAFO (f#*k around and find out) attitude that is so pervasive of late. Revenge and retribution are now more important than ever, even over the simplest and silliest things.
But that single thing is merely a symptom of a larger problem; to step back and look at the larger picture the real issue our loss, as a people, a society, of empathy, caring, concern, respect, and in general, the value of another person’s life; their feelings, their well-being, their needs. It is a sad decline in what we as a society hold as important. This is not universal of course, but it growing and I have no idea how to change that.
I know that my remaining time here on this rock is limited; I sort of realized that just before or after they split my chest open for a bypass lol. But seriously, I am staring 70 years old in the face and that is scary. Plus, average lifespan post cardiac bypass is 20 years so realistically given my age, I’ll be lucky to hit the average. Therefore, this is no time to get frustrated at a driver who cuts me off or at some social media post with which I disagree; or much of anything else to be honest. Now is the time to refine myself, to define myself, and to an extent – to find myself, the myself I want to be remembered as. What’s the old show biz adage? Leave them wanting more! I need to create that final version of myself that will leave the people in my life wanting more. Sounds like a worthwhile project! Stay well dear reader!!