Prep Time Before Go Time

“I don’t mind dying, the trouble is you feel so bloody stiff the next day.”

I didn’t say that, a fellow by the name of George Axelrod did. He was an American screenwriter. Most famously he wrote ‘The Seven Year Itch‘, later turned. into a movie starring Marilyn Monroe.

I think about death a lot these days. Not that I’m depressed or morbid, it’s more like I’m 76 and I have some time on my hands and all my life I’ve tended to think about the things that are approaching. You know, like a birthday, a new job, a long planned trip to Europe; the mundane to the exciting and everything in between. And the blunt fact is, my death is one of those things that is approaching, so it’s probably going to take up more and more of my time, as Time marches on.

But of course a man my age thinks about death, not unlike I thought about getting married when I was getting married, and thought about being a parent when I was about to be. It’s just what’s current in my life these days. Ah yes, dying. I should think about that. And you all know by now, when I say “I should think about that” I really mean “Hey, I’ve got something to talk about.”

Trouble is, no one wants to.

I have a friend who is turning 70 shortly and she is not good with it. I mean the obvious answer is ‘Well at least you get to turn 70.” but that would be dismissive and unfair. Of course she’s anxious. She gets to join The Club, yes that one where we become acutely aware that we’re on the clock. I mean, it’s not as though we haven’t always been ‘on the clock’ is it, but there is something about turning 70 that gets your attention.

You know that feeling when you’re in a plane, careening down the runway,, gaining enough speed for liftoff, aware that the runway does not go on forever. Yeh, that’s what it is. At 70 you realize without being told, that you are running out of runway. I mean, who knows when we’re going to die.

“Life is rather like toilet paper, it can be long and useful but invariably it runs out at the wrong time.”

It can happen at any time in our lives but it’s different when we’re younger. Death catches us by surprise when we’re younger. We even have ‘go to’ responses when it happens,

“How sad, he was too young”.

‘Too young for what? Yes, he was too young but have you noticed no one ever says when an old man dies “How sad, he was too old”. No, it’s generally some version of “Well, he had a good life” or even “It was his time”. That’s my personal favourite! What do you mean it was his time. It has always been my time, doesn’t follow that I have to die.

Of course a young death catches us by surprise but that ‘surprise’ thing disappears around 70. From then on, it’s more like,

“Oh right. I’d better be reading a good book when I die, I want to look smart when they find me.”

Our 70’s, if we’re lucky enough to get there, can be wonderful years. For me they have been some of the most fulfilling of my entire life. I am devoted to my wife Mac, I have an abundance of grandchildren, four loving children of my own and oodles of friends. I’m writing more than ever and my mind appears, for the moment at least, to be largely intact. My life is good. In fact, it’s never been better and now, NOW!? they tell me I have to ready myself. I spend decades trying to figure it all out and this is the reward. The end? That’s not a reward, that is a great book, cut short. That is a streaming series, the best you’ve ever watched, and they don’t load the finale, that is a conversation ended before it’s over.

But look, I’ve made some progress. My father showed me the way, in his way. He was one of those who died too soon, taken by cancer. He was playing bridge with friends one March long weekend, realized he couldn’t count the cards and was quickly diagnosed with brain cancer. He died the following May long weekend, that same year. He was brave and faced his death with grace, not railing against the unfairness of it all, expressing no anger at his life cut short, all he asked for was to be kept pain free. My parents had an English born doctor at the time, who made sure. of that.

“Tell you what Tony, I shall give you some morphine and Ativan, that should do the trick. Enough to keep him snowed, in any event.”

He set up the intravenous port in his arm, and left me with sixty-four vials of morphine and five hundred Ativan.

“Do me favour though would you?”

“Of course doctor, what can I do?”

“Well, when your father does pass, please do call me first before anyone else arrives. I’ll pop over to retrieve what you haven’t used.”

Three weeks later, I called him first and he retrieved the unused drugs. I knew of course that he was breaking rules and I dare say, the law but I have thought of that doctor many times in the years since, always so grateful for his act of kindness. My father died pain free, his family saved from much of the wretched indignity of dying and the painful memories that can come with those last few days. I think my father was still teaching me, by example. When my time comes I hope I can do the same thing. I hope I can die with grace.

And now you know why no one wants to talk to me about death.

“I’m not afraid of death. I just don’t want to be here when it happens.”

That’s Woody Allen. I kind of get it

That aside, it is what the seventies, if you’re lucky enough to get there, are for. It’s a gift. Prep Time before Go Time!

Yeah, you can see I have some work to do yet but, I have time.

Oh damn!