Life
A most important part of life is creating more life. In my case three children, and seven grandchildren, who wouldn’t have ever existed without my existence, who wouldn’t have existed without my parents existences. My siblings, my children, my grandchildren who are all doing very well.
But I’m in my eighties, friends and people in my life are falling like leaves in autumn.
Life is in defiance of the Second Law of Thermodynamics. The Universe is inevitably moving from a highly complex existence to one of complete disorder. It is called entropy. Life is a temporary exception to that. A local source of energy, the sun, has brought life onto our planet, but inevitably, it will all move to an equilibrium, which will be the death of all life on the planet. We are all temporary residents. Death is inevitable.
Let us then be grateful for our time, for our life, for our short existence here. I am. For our accomplishments, for our children, for music, film and theatre, art. Art is very important because it lives after our lives. Brings existence to those after us.
But this essay is about the end of life, which is inevitable by the Second Law of Thermodynamics. Why should this be so hard? I fail to understand why religion should make this so hard. Someone in a desperate situation is condemned to untold suffering and pain at the end of their life by religion, the hallmark of religion, suffering and pain. No wonder it’s losing adherents.
My wife contracted colorectal cancer, a dangerous version. At first, chemo, then, experimental therapies. We had two years of therapy, then finally a home hospice with palliative care, which means lots of pain relief. Our daughter bathed her, we helped her with her medications. We saw the end, the family gathered, and she died listening to our favorite, Richard Strauss’ Third of his Last Four Songs, Herman Hesse’s description of a spiritual universe.
I’m anticipating my own demise within the next ten years. I’ll be really surprised if I make it to 90. I’m in really great shape due to a seriously maintained exercise schedule, but while exercise gives me a strong gait people believing I’m much younger, but no exercise will help keep my bladder young, nor allow my brain to dredge up distant memories.
I’ll probably go the way my mother and father went, a stroke, one which I’ve already I’ve had, but what I expect to happen will be my laying myself down wherever I am, seeing a blast of white light while free of pain, maybe even pictures of my family thrust on me by a dying brain short of blood and oxygen.
I’ve had a great life. Fifty five years married to a true heart of gold. Three children doing very well in life, one a Chair of her Department at a University, one implementing machine learning for businesses, another conducting cancer research, and seven grandchildren pursuing careers in art, music, finance, and some still thinking about what it will be.
I don’t believe I will have the same memorial as my wife did. There was no one who didn’t love her. Her memorial was filled with the people whose lives were touched by her. I suspect those who’ll be there at mine will be my children, my grandchildren, who only came into existence because of me and their mother and grandmother, the true heart of gold.
What I’m worried about over my next ten years is I’ll be attending the memorials of my friends. They’re falling like leaves in autumn, my first high school crush a few years ago, my best friend in high school who was at his death on the Board of Governors of Gonzaga University, two friends who were gun enthusiasts by suicide, my wife of fifty-five years and within a week, our friend Cate Breslin with a book on the NY Times best seller list with whom I was staying on that day on 9/11 when I was assisting colleagues in a booth at the World Trade Center.
I’m on the cusp of Boomers, born in 1942. Beware the future as the Boomers after me become octogenarians. Like falling leaves in autumn.
