RIP President George H.W. Bush

I get to wear jeans to work on Wednesday. That's the most important thing!

 

A couple of weeks ago, my ex was distraught because her grandmother, who is 100 years old, seemed on the verge of passing. (She did not.) Part of me was surprised by the sadness, because, like... Granny has lived as full a life as a human can live, and you can't really be surprised that she's coming to the end of it. (Granny was married to Jack, who died several years back at 92, and his family lamented that he was taken so soon; his brother lived to be 108.) But your post is helping me realize that it doesn't work like that. Maybe you have even more to mourn. I don't know.

 

When my grandmother was 97 and said the sentence, "People aren't meant to live this long. You see everybody you know die and the world change so completely," I realized I never want to live to that age. I'd settle for a good 80 and out in a second if given the option.

I don't want to see a child die. I don't want to become a burden. I don't fear change, but there are going to be elements to the future I just don't want to try to deal with at 90-odd years old.

I do joke with people I'll be the last guy to die right before they figure out the key to anti-aging.

 

My grandparents died in their late 80s, after a few years of failing health, physical and otherwise. We knew it was their time to go, but it's always tough to deal with the finality of the passing of time.

 

My mom is 90 and is content to go whenever her time is up. She said she never expected to live this long.

My dad died in 1999 and one of my brothers died in 2009, so she has lost a spouse and a child.

But she's relatively healthy and likely to outlast us all.

 

Living a state away from my grandma (the only one I've ever known) it got to the point when I realized each visit could be the last. I treasured those times. Each extra visit was a huge gift.

 

I am trying to steel myself for "the call." Every time I see my parents' number, I pick up with trepidation. Dad was just in the hospital this week for stroke symptoms, which after CT and MRI, thankfully appears to just be an inner ear issue. He'll be 84 in four weeks and has survived quad bypass, colon and prostate cancer. But his two good friends and co-workers (same ages) from IBM died this year. Mom is 83. And while they still have the ability to be independent, all of us siblings wonder why they haven't sold their townhouse while they can instead of when they have to.

My wife lost her mother to pancreatic cancer the month before we met, when she was only 26. Her dad passed away in his sleep during a vacation to Hawaii in 2002, just a few weeks after he was his son's best man at a Vegas wedding. He was healthy and happy right to the end. But there isn't a day that Gwen doesn't have a question for them that can't be answered.

For everyone else on this board, sharing similar prayers. You have my sympathies.

 

My parents both died at age 93. Dad had a partially incapacitated last few months which I am sure made him decide not to resist the inevitable. Mom was in full control of her faculties until physical shutdown (with lung failure, they use lots of morphine to reduce panic, so there was no suffering I am aware of). Both times sucked. As the now patriarch of my family, I'd like to at least match their score in the clubhouse, but if I were to suffer physical severe disability, I might change my tune. Both of them were still out on the golf course at age 90. I play with a guy on the Cape in the summer who walks nine holes at age 91. His wife went through 10 years of Alzheimer's before dying before I even met him. It's all just such a crapshoot.

 

This guy's pretty good. He shoots in the low 40s for nine about once every three rounds. Wizard putter, the rat.

 

Nobody should have to bury their children. I've given my mother permission to bag me, put a hat on me, and let the garbage men think I'm yet another phase of weird stuff put out at the curb every Tuesday and Friday. (Sticktaps to whoever wrote a similar line for Lou Grant.) I've explained to her that she has to learn to get along with my dog and cat. I think that's the only part of this whole mortality thing that is worrying me except for figuring out who gets my AI, the too-large-for-an-adult music library and my thoroughly inappropriate collection of boots.

Getting back to topic, Dubya and Dole tore me up. It also bugs that the Trumps are making the Bushes entertain them. I know it's being couched as the other way around, but come on. 41 flat out said he didn't like 45. They need to leave the Bush family alone.