July 2, 2014--Ending It

We hadn't seen each other since last September and there was a lot to catch up about.

After the how-was-your-winter and the obligatory you-look-good, we moved on to other things.

Remembering that late last summer she had arranged for her brother to move to a care facility in Pennsylvania, I asked how he was doing.

"As good as one can expect. He's not happy there--who is--but since he is descending into dementia in truth he is not that aware of where he is or who he's living with."

Remembering that my mother was very old she in turn delicately asked if she was "still around."

"Indeed, Saturday was her 106th birthday."

"Amazing. And she's . . . ?"

"As you said about your brother, how good can anyone be at such an age." Knowing I put it this way as a gesture of solidarity about her brother and the effects of very old age, I wanted to add more of the truth. "In fact, though 106 is new territory for me, and of course for her, I think she's doing remarkably well."

"I'm so happy to hear that. Where does she live?"

"In Florida. In a so-called senior residence. She lives with some assistance but is quite independent."

"That's wonderful. Look, I myself am getting on in years," she glanced over at me, indicating she suspected I too might be having similar thoughts, "and live alone, my children are far from here and I don't want to be a burden on them, so . . ."

"If I may," I don't know her that intimately, "What are you thinking when . . . ?"

"And if I may," she winked at me, "What about you?"

"Well . . ."

"Ditto for me. Well indeed."

"I hate to think about these things, but I suppose I'm old enough to have to."

"I hate those nursing and assisted living places. You give up your home, you essentially give up your friends, give up the foods you like to eat, you even have to give up your pets." She tugged on Jojo's leash. To him she said, "I couldn't leave you."

"I hate those places too. Unfortunately I've been to a lot of them. I hate the look, the smell, the plastic plates and utensils, even the food looks and tastes plastic to me. I know this sounds superficial, talking about plastic plates and forks, but still I hate it and can't stand the idea of living out my final days that way."

"Have any people where your mother lives, I don't know how to put this, committed . . . I mean . . ."

"Funny you should mention that. So many there seem depressed enough to want to do so. Most, though, I should add, like my mother, have a strong will to live and find things in life to enjoy. But just the other day I asked her about that. She's lived there more than 15 years and it's a big place so you would think . . ."

"But?"

"But, in spite of that--and there are a few hundred residents--my mother, who knows everyone, says she hasn't heard about even one person . . ."

"That's amazing. My plan it to . . ." She lost her thought as Jojo lunged at a chipmunk.

"Is to?"

"Well, how to put it--end it."

"End?"

"My life."

"I think that way too. Have a wonderful dinner, a great bottle of wine, put on a Bach cello suite, take a fistful of pills and . . ."

"That sounds like a plan to me. Though I think instead of wine I'll cuddle with a bottle of Chivas Regal."

"On that happy note, I need to get back to my weeding."

"It's such a beautiful, good-to-be-alive kind of day. Whatever possessed us to . . . ?"

"Getting older probably possessed us. The facts of our lives. And, I think, living so closely here as we do with nature puts you in touch with the entire cycle."

"True for me too. I find it to be a kind of preparation."

"For?"

"What we've been talking about."

"Jojo wants to get going. There are gophers to chase and rabbits will be out soon."

"That's my point."