The average lifespan expectancy in the United States is 79.4 years in 2025. Therefore, anything above that is bonus, statistically speaking. In my coming and going over the last two weeks, Five for Fighting’s song “100 Years” the refrain: “When you only got a hundred years to live.” seems to be stuck in my head and like so many songs it details a journey across a lifetime. It calls back to the time of being 15 for a moment, carefree joy, invincibility of vitality and innocence.
A blissful little girl holds tight to a treasured lemonade handed to her, just plunked down from the vending machine as a solemn adult grabs a cup of ice. I imagine we all secretly wish we could be that little girl. Joyful that all her needs are met without a care in the world, not having to prioritize responsibilities and obligations. To her the lemonade is the best, unaware of the incoming tide of distractions swirling around. The ice machine groans, the call chime is unceasingly warning of someone in distress, someone is howling in fear or pain, nursing staff busy. Millie the facility comfort dog is even tired of this situation and seems a bit stuck up, not interested in visiting people. An ambulance pulls up; no flashing lights or urgency needed which seems as common as an Uber at this particular location.
At this time sitting in a hospice center waiting for an inevitable event the time for contemplation is plenty, pondering two calendar appointments we can’t influence or schedule, the day we are born, and the day we die. Between these two calendar appointments there is a lot of life to experience. Childhood dreams of what you want to be when you grow up, teenage hopes and first love heart crushes, aspirations, and friendships. Graduation, College and career opportunities, dating, marriage, your first apartment or home, children, family life, holidays and what gets us here sitting in the lounge: End of Life Mortality.
I contemplate my own mortality, circumstances and fate, decisions and consequences. I have a wonderful family, but the age separation made it seem as if I was out of touch with my brother and sister, for they were in a different life stage. Would a 13- or 14-year-old want to play with a 7-year-old? Fast forward 50 years later and we are all adults now. Still raw and hurt from the sudden loss of one parent and two years later we find ourselves at a slow goodbye. It started with being forgetful, a task not done, a loving spouse accommodating needs by filling in the blanks when memory cannot recall simple things like what you had for lunch today. The goodbye began as stories and insight changed. Supervision and dependency replaced independence and autonomy. The essence of a parent began to vanish, their laugher, wit, and insight muted. I hope that recalling and sharing stories triggers a fond memory to ease the situation. I can’t be sure they are even comprehended.
Sitting here, watching as families take respite, people consoling each other. Someone is on their laptop, working on a problem at the office, someone is on their cellphone encouraging a visit urgently, another muted discussion of funeral arrangements, and yet another explaining Grandma doesn’t recognize her is not personal since before college, the nose piercing, lip-ring and purple hair are not connecting to a prior memory of a granddaughter helping, watering the roses in the garden with a toy watering can in grand style and finery of a princess tiara, cape, magic wand, and having a popsicle with the fanciful tea party on the porch.
There is a constant uneasy stillness present which is paralyzing, No escape from the constant worry, internal struggles, and reflections. Like it or not, you hold your punched ticket for admission to a Private Hell, the phone calls you didn’t make thinking there would be another time, cards and letters meant to be sent, choices made to make a memory that were declined, intended to be put off. Arguments, differences of opinion, chances to say, “I’m Sorry”, and not those “Prickly Apologies” where you say, “I’m Sorry, but…” and seek to justify your actions, invalidating the sincerity of your reconciliation attempt. Things you should have done but didn’t, events and situations you wish you could take-back are markers in a lifetime.
Before we got here, the last few weeks have been filled with a downhill spiral, Hospice said this would be coming, a slow descent is now a plunge with a fall. Quickly scrambling to pack up the assisted living apartment and move to a final location for nursing care. Scouting locations, this nursing home seems like a total scumhole from the reviews and a Medicare overbilling scandal. This place has no beds, this place has a waiting list, this facility is not an appropriate fit, this one is very far from family. Days and nights blend together, poor eating choices at random times, and even worse sleep filled with anxiety, of a dreaded phone call. Family decisions and relationships prodded and tested under the stress. Walking on eggshells, sponging up how others feel but not being asked how I feel and how I am managing the stress and grieving process.
The Morning Star has come as darkness turns to day through half-tilted blinds with the dawn. Has the Morning Star come to carry a soul to Heaven? Not today, perhaps it’s come to comfort the grief, guilt, and sadness of the moment and replace it with halcyon memories of a meaningful time. Perhaps it’s come to give strength to the family gazing on their loved one who was gregarious in their youth but now has withered away. No soup, water, or sustenance desired refused by barely a whisper. Weakness making independent sitting impossible. Coughing, breathing was once so effortless now labored and miserable and when it pauses shocking.
Solice comes in the relief of suffering. I will miss my parent, but the long goodbye has prepared me for this event. There is release and relief of the finality, being released from the earthly bonds of suffering. There is solace, knowing their spirit has reunited with loved ones gone before, no more physical needs or pain. The tears come in waves. I thought I had it together until at the barber shop, MercyMe’s song “Finaly Home” played and after the first verse the waterworks start. I find myself looking back on fond experiences and memories, and lessons learned. I look through pictures and recall the moment, wanting to live this moment again. The pictures have faded and the color inks drift with the passage of time like our memories.
My life has always been in the shadows, not being very popular or interesting has created my own dilemma, attaching to others difficult, never really fitting in. Internal wonder if I will be alone for the rest of my life. Fortunately, after prayers and a blessing, Jen and I found each other, after 10 years we got married, and we are coming up on our first anniversary in a year that has been filled with movement and motion with family needs. I hunger for a moment to connect with Jen, without having everything else demanding time and attention. In our circumstances the longed-for bliss of a marriage early in life has been pushed back a few decades. We must make every moment count together as we eye retirement in the future where hopefully our bodies will be able to enjoy activities and experiences. It’s been about a month I have been away from Jen attending to matters but can’t wait to see her soon. Give her a hug and kiss and tell her I missed her, and I love her. Airline booked, I am counting the days to be together. Get through a few more tasks and obligations and on to the next chapter in my 100 years, when you only got a hundred years to live…