Commentary on Death

I like reading about people's odd deaths. Some of them are odd only in the sense that you'd prefer death to be fairly noble; you're gathered with your family and give them each a blessing like in biblical times. They sit you up. You reach for the air like Fred Sanford, perhaps grab a rose and extend it up like an offering, then fall over dead.

Everyone stands around, a respectful few minutes of silence, then they start looking at each other like, "What now?" Someone smiles and says something in a half humorous way, a proud statement, "He was quite a fighter," and everyone nods and smiles. But then there's always a cousin or uncle who needs to get out "for air," because death makes him uncomfortable. And anyway, he's been in and out of the room for the last week and is tired of it. So he's out in the parking lot 10 minutes later having a cigarette.

The nurses are checking in in a very quiet way, offering coffee to the survivors, all in a hushed way. But since they're all familiar to the family by now, someone from the family, a lady about 43 -- it could very well be that she does scrapbooking for her family -- will go over and hug them, thank them for all their kindness, and say, yes, I will have a coffee, it sounds good. Someone else will point around the room at 20 used cups, as if to say, "Of course we'll have coffee." Very friendly laughing.

By now, most of the family is away from deceased. But there's always going to be one or two going over, a quick pat on your wrist. You're laying there totally still, mouth still slightly open, but not enough to bother anyone. They're just glad to not be hearing your death rattle and rasping. The peacefulness, though, is stark.

That's not as profound a death as I think would be ideal. It's hard to think right now what the ideal would be. Maybe forgoing morphine, grinning and bearing the pain, telling the family you love them but they can go home, that you want to be alone with your thoughts.