When Bob and I moved to this senior community, we never made an announcement to our children that this was where we were going to die. Yet I think they, and we, knew that was the plan. Yes, this is the last stop for most of us here. Our children usually know it and are satisfied that we made the decision. Or in some cases they are pleased that they helped us, their parents, make the choice, particularly when they see us leading happy lives.
I have commented before about how hard it is to walk into our mailroom and find a photo of a resident and a rose in a vase announcing his or her death. The reality is that no one lives forever and the rational wish is for our friends and ourselves to die with the least amount of suffering possible. My husband’s death at the age of ninety was like that. Sepsis, a deadly bacterial infection, struck him and he died in three days. If he had survived this virulent infection, life would never have been the same for him. Knowing him as well as I did, his death was a blessing, though it certainly was a shock for our four children, their spouses, the grandkids and me. Someday this group will have to deal with my end too.
Learn more about my thoughts and observations about how to handle end-of-life issues in my latest post The Real Last Stop.
This post was written by Margery Fridstein, an author and retired psychotherapist who lives in a CCRC outside of Denver, CO. She is chronicling her experience in the monthly series, “The Last Stop With Margery Fridstein.”