I love you; You’re going to die
Today, December 10th 2024, I stumbled upon this draft that was dated August 2023. It is quite something to read what I wrote then, not knowing that five months later, my dad would be taken from us suddenly (obituary).
I love you; You’re going to die
I have been extravagantly blessed with a mother and father who are still alive, and still married, at age 72. They are not in the best of health, but they are chugging along and, at least when I force them to, they are getting out of the house and doing things that they enjoy. Lately, though, I have been attempting to force our family to have some difficult conversations about the future. I do not know how I became this person in the family—the one who “always” has to bring “the drama,” but it started early (probably college?) and I have finally accepted that it just is this way. The only way we are going to talk about hard things is if I bring them up. So I started adding, “I love you; You’re going to die” to the end of hugs and phone calls—to scoffing laughter from my parents.
Talking about death is not anyone’s favorite activity. Many people avoid the subject, even up to the end, letting it happen silently. Health issues arise and they are tackled one by one, by different specialists, without any explicit acknowledgment that all of these issues add up to a mortal body coming to the end of its life. “Getting old sucks,” my dad comments on the phone as he and mom share their week which consists of 2-3 doctor’s appointments. “So what fun are you going to have this week?” I ask, trying to move them toward life and away from simply managing a decline. Sometimes I think they would not leave the house if I did not make them. And this is why I keep bringing up death – because I want them to live first.
Don’t get me wrong, my parents aren’t entirely avoiding the things responsible adults with families have to do to prepare for death. They have a will and a financial advisor; I am the executor and I have an educated guess as to where all the documents I would need are stored in my parents’ house, if anything was to happen suddenly. I made my own will a few years ago, since I own a house, and while it may sound morbid, I actually enjoyed choosing people to endow with my worldly goods. As a single woman, I have a lot of freedom to pick anyone I want, and I have some nice things that people would like: my friend’s daughter could have my Powell flute; this other friend could take the piano; another could really use the car. There’s a family nearby that loves games; they could take their pick. I already asked one friend to destroy my personal journals (you can’t be too careful) and she will also take care of my library. I think most people don’t go into detail like this, but I highly recommend it, just because it is fun. It’s the ultimate gift-giving opportunity.
For married couples, part of the conversation is the reality that one of you will outlive the other. You really never know which one will go first; It’s not always the one you would have expected. My mom has always joked, “It better be me,” but my dad is the less healthy one in general. There’s a song by Jason Isbell that goes, in part,
“It’s knowing that this can’t go on forever
Likely one of us will have to spend some days alone
Maybe we’ll get forty years together
But one day I’ll be gone
One day you’ll be gone”
I think that if I worry about anything when it comes to my parents, it is this part: one day, one of them will be gone. They have been together for 48 years. It is going to be rough, no matter what, but I do think that talking about it in advance is better than not.
In addition, most of the time, and mercifully so, illness and decline precede death. As human beings live longer, we also are in need of assistance and care at the end of our lives for longer. We cannot know in advance what this will look like, which is one of the challenges. My parents could be essentially the same, health-wise, in ten years. We have some good genes in the family and most of our ancestors had long lives. But that is not a guarantee, and my parents, or my dad at least, would not be shy in saying that they have not always taken care of themselves well.
—
I ended the draft there. On January 21st, 2024, my mom was making her morning coffee when she realized that my dad was gone. He had died sometime that morning, and our family will never be the same. I did not know when I wrote the piece above that this would happen, but I am grateful to see that I was at least thinking about these things. But it is harder than I ever imagined, I’ll tell you that.
This holiday season, please say a prayer for all those who are missing someone for the first time.