We all have to die, but not everyone gets a good death. If there even is such a thing, it’s all up to interpretation. Some would call dying bravely in battle the best ‘good death,’ or religious martyrdom, or a death that somehow furthers an important cause. Others may prefer dying in their sleep, never feeling pain or even knowing they were sick.
Underlying it all are the unsaid words that will never be heard by the deceased, the amends that will never be made, the love that will never be expressed. Death, at least the kind that hits us mere mortals, is as final as anything that happens on this side of heaven. Far better to hash out any unresolved issues with your loved ones before they die, because when they do it will be too late. One minute there are limitless chances, the next there are none.
Dying in a bed, even a hospital one, surrounded by a loving and adoring family who had enough time to express their love and properly say goodbye is my idea of as good a death as could be had by anyone, and that’s exactly what happened to my incredible father last week.
Dad was a Vietnam vet, retired Air National Guard master sergeant, retired railroad electrician, Baptist church deacon. A Boomer-con Patriot to the core, he cared deeply about the direction of the country and was absolutely elated when Donald Trump was elected again. But more than any of that he was a man who adored his family, his wife of 55 years, my sister and me and our spouses, and his seven grandkids, and would do anything in the world for any of us. He wore the mantle ‘patriarch’ with as much grace and humble dignity as anyone ever has. He spent his retirement years working the 8-acre wooded park-like ‘farm’ he lived on with my mother and creating incredible memories with his grandchildren that will last their lifetimes. He will be sorely missed.
It’s a gut punch for sure, and it’s tough to write about, even if in a strange way therapeutic. If we live long enough all of us will see our parents die. There are no exceptions. None of us are special. We know this is part of the deal, but that doesn’t make it any easier when it happens.
Also therapeutic is the fact that my dad didn’t die alone. He died with his family around him. Thankfully, his doctor knew death was imminent and called all of us into the ICU room in plenty of time. My sister and I each held one of his hands, stroked his head, heard him whisper “I love you” as he seized up, gripped hard, and passed into Glory. There is something weirdly serene and almost holy about experiencing the death of someone you love dearly this intensely and this close. I don’t know any other way to describe it, but it changed me in ways I’m only beginning to fathom.
The mind wanders during such ordeals, especially in the quiet moments before and after. The ICU we were in had a ‘strict’ two visitor at a time rule, but they routinely looked the other way for us throughout his week long hospital stay, and they disregarded it entirely in his final moments. They understood the importance of spending one’s final days and hours with the ones we love, and they were gracious.
I often found myself feeling thankful for small silver linings like that. And, as a Covid ‘dissident’ from the start, I couldn’t help but feel grateful for the fact that nobody in our family got critically ill during that horrible era. Had this happened then and we had been kept out of the hospital room where my dad lay dying, I don’t know what I would have done. I do, however, know what I would have wanted to do.
What happened to countless families who suffered during that time is unforgivable. The husband of 60 years who sat outside his wife’s hospital window holding signs of love and watching her die, the mother who was kept away from her sick teenage son, unable to hold his hand or say goodbye as he died, the family of a man in his 40s who could only speak to him via phone as he passed, the pregnant woman who lost her baby and almost died herself who had to endure it all alone, and countless more.
I was angry about hearing stories like this at the time, but after my recent experience they hit even harder now. What kind of monsters would allow such horrors in the name of ‘safety’?
In the end, we all die alone. But I have to think that passing to the other side surrounded by those he loved had to have been comforting both for us and for my father. Not every death can be like that, obviously, but when they can it should be encouraged, not hindered.
The fact that people in power purposefully prevented this basic human right based on nonsense and pseudoscience that turned out to be completely false will always be a stain on our history, and it should be a stain on their careers.
Rest easy, Dad. I’ll see you on the other side.
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