A Bitter End for a Sweet Man

I haven't felt like posting much since my Dad passed away. It is a peculiar phenomenon that I don't quite understand. It is as though my ideals, my ideas, my perceptions really don't matter much... not as much, at least, as the abiding essence of life... no, that's not it... it is something else... something I can't put a finger on and name... or a story that goes on without a name. I wonder whether his story meant anything to him as he lay there in his hospital bed with what appeared to be not much more to be concerned about than his next breath. I grieve, of course, but I believe I might be grieving for myself as well: I.e., born to die.

   Dad was a robust and healthy man up to the last ten years of his life. He went down fast as his mind was captured by a strange and cruel dementia. A sharp, bright man with a great sense of humor was reduced to scanning for one liners in order to speak. It was a harsh way to go and he was a good man that I believe deserved the best as he exited from this life. The man earned his way and his payment was this! Damned if the Gods aren't sadistic!

   In thinking about old age... our declining years... our end... I can comfort myself with the suspicion that, by the time we go, we are ready to go. Our infirmaries prepare us for the end of it. We think, "This is awful, let's get the eff out of here!" and then we go... just like that. I suppose a good life like the one my Dad lived is reward enough... he had love in his life and compassion for us all, as well as comfort in his so called Golden Years. That ought to be enough.... Shit, what am I bitching about?

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