That Tiresome Dying Thing

 I guess when you get really old, you think a lot more about the dying thing.  I think I first became aware of dying when I was about 16. One of the things that happens when you move up into that teenage period is that your parents and grandparents start to become “OLD”. In my case, although my mom was still pretty ok, one of my Grands had to come live with us. Turns out they had run out of money altogether in around 1950. I literally remember when they were down to their last seven dollars. Think of that. No credit cards, no bank account, and in your pocket is your remaining seven dollars.  My mum’s siblings were in a state of battle about who would/could care for the parents, my Gran and granpa. Turns out, we were selected to care for my Scottish Grandma.  She was a sweetie, but an unwell sweetie. Grandma Inglis was maybe 85, and she had heart disorder and a breathing problem.  When she came to live with us, we lived in a small, two-bedroom cottage. Living there were my mum, my bro and me. So, GM initially slept on our screened porch, which was sort of ok, since it was early summer and weather was not an issue.

But about two months after she arrived, she began to have serious breathing problems. She was placed on oxygen. Since my mum and my bro were busy during the day, I was home alone caring for her.  Sometime midday, GM began having serious breathing problems. I went to her and held her. Then I decided to call the doctor. Soon after I hung up, GM began having terminal breathing problems. I sat with her, holding her as she began breathing her last. Then she stopped breathing altogether, as I held her. She had died in my arms. Shortly thereafter, the doctor arrived. He checked her and declared her dead.  So there I was, a young teen holding my dead GM. That was my first experience with the dying thing. Later, I experienced others with my mum, and Carol’s mum both dying in our care, and both in their 80s.

We had no serious connection with organized religion at that stage as we barely attended a small local church. So we had no awareness of what happens when one dies. The fact that nothing happens actually, beyond the cessation of breathing and thereby LIFE did not occur in any complex way. Gram was here, then she was “Gone”. And see we used that term, “Gone”, which signifies a journey of some kind. Folks leave the earth and then travel to Heaven, where they then live in heavenly splendor, looking down upon us poor earthbound creatures.

At that stage, it never occurred to me that, after death, one simply ceases being aware. You are no longer aware, therefore you cease to exist. We are allowed to place you in a box and bury that box several feet underground, which is what we did with Gran. Gran then no longer exists, except as a memory in our little brains.  And then we went about our daily living chores, and Gran became yesterday. I stopped thinking of her, except occasionally.  Yet, even now, some 70 years later, I still think of her as I see a picture of her in our home. But, for that, she is literally “gone”.

Later, much later, I began thinking about Life and its cessation. And I wonder, what exactly is LIFE? And, why do we have LIFE? Just recently, a new life has come into our family with the birth of our newest Great Grandson, Lincoln Steinbacher. He is a sweet little man, and, we hope he has many decades of a fruitful and happy life ahead of him.  And he adds to our assembly of men and women, boys and girls, all of whom comprise our family.  He is . . . they all are LIFE.

But Gran was also LIFE. She breathed, smiled, laughed, chatted with us. And then suddenly, she was no longer among we members of the LIFE thing.  But she, and all who came before and all who continue to occupy LIFE, are members of this curious phenomenon called Intelligent Life forms. And it always draws me back to the Beginning, assuming there was, at some point, a “Beginning”.  See we are always faced with this question—how did creation begin and was there a Life Force at that beginning stage?

I completely fail to understand how a Universe began, with or without a Life Force.  Was there a Creator? How could there not have been one? But, see, it grows even more complex when one thinks about a Creator? Suppose there was a Creator—a God—who was responsible. But who created the Creator? Even if it is all magic, who/what is the magician?

I really have to think more about this creation thing. No explanation springs to mind. Even if the ultimate answer is GOD. My question remains to baffle me—who created GOD? And why? Why would a GOD create this magical thing called The Universe? And why take such a long time.? Why not just snap one’s fingers and suddenly a functional universe appears?  And if a God created this universe thingie, why such a problematic one? Why are Humans not perfect?

OK, maybe another Day. Think On Richard. And Meanwhile, Bye Bye Granny Inglis, and Welcome to our Newest source of wonder, Lincoln Byrd Steinbacher? You are already amazing.

That Dying Thing

 How do we know we are dying? Well, I guess the most honest answer is, “well, we don’t know, until we are nearly dead.” It seems that, barring a drastic thing like cancer, or being hit by a car, or a stray bullet, there is no definite signal. But there are lots of little signals. Like what? Oh, we are a little unsteady while walking. Or, when we bend over, we begin to acquire some dizziness. Or we experience some shortness of breath while walking or climbing.  Arguably, the continued introduction and use of various medical pills is also a good sign. See, we are trying artificially to maintain the body’s usual functional capabilities.

But all such signs could introduce themselves when we are 30, or 40. We don’t have to be 80 or 90. Now, I come from a family in which all members ceased existing by the latest 85. And my memories of those folks are always of “old people”. But, since they all died when I was still pretty young, all of my memories are those of 5-20 somethings observing 60 – 80 somethings.

But now, I’m 90 and my dear wife is 89. And we are still cranking ahead, even to working out several times a week.  We even have a weekly “Datenite”, when we go to our local brewpub and have a beer, some dinner, and some pleasant conversation with close friends. So, is that “Old”?  Well, not really, but we are now definitely “Old”.

But are we “Dying”? Well, yeah, of course, but aren’t we all?

But that isn’t what bothers me. No. What bothers me is having an idiot-malenfant as our President, during this maybe final stage of our lives.  See my first political memories are listening to the radio at maybe age 5 or 6, while FDR chatted to us. I actually and vividly remember FDR telling us about December 7^th and the Pearly Harbor bombing, that started WW II. Yeah, I sat on the floor in our Second Avenue, Manhattan railroad flat with the radio next to me on our front room floor and listened.

And now I have to pay attention to this fascist clown, who may be the dumbest human on the planet, lie to me about crowds gathering in LA. And that makes me scared   . . . scared that I might die before this idiot leaves our planet.  See, I’ve lived through a lot of Presidents. Think Nixon, and Shrub, and Reagan for heaven’s sake.  Course, we also had Ike, and Kennedy, and Truman, and Johnson. Were the latter all perfect? No, of course not, but they were genuinely trying to keep America safe and a decent place to live. Trump, on the other hand, doesn’t care. He wants only to be treated like a king. But he keeps acting like a nasty, spoiled little five-year-old, who is always whining and crying.

And so, I live, day by day, watching this idiot, and hoping maybe he will fall down the stairs and not recover. Horrible? Yep, I know. I’m awful, but I keep thinking about our Great Grandchildren and what kind of world they might have if this idiot doesn’t soon leave.  See, he is old enough to have a sudden heart attack. I mean, he is fat, as well as stupid. So, maybe we will luck out and he will experience a stroke, or some such. But can’t it happen while I am still breathing air on this planet of ours??? Yeah, so he goes out, and then I can relax. Oh, but one other thing??? Maybe a stroke or heart attack could mangle Vance as well. That would be nice.

So, breathe on folks. We all need to survive this idiot-malenfant. Smile, have a nice glass of wine. Breathe slowly and deeply, and smile . . . oh and sip on that wine. Yeah chill.