Uncle John is moving closer to "active" dying. I am taking Mom tomorrow to see him, she's having trouble and this may be her last visit. So this morning, I explained to her briefly that when he entered the active phase, I would take the dogs to the kennel and go keep a vigil so that he wouldn't be alone when he died.
"It doesn't work that way" she protested, "they just call you and tell you they are dead...YOu can't PLAN and, and I don't want to know....."
So I gathered my thoughts an said "Ok, then I won't tell you. But I have animals to attend to and I want them with me up until I need to go, so I have to plan. When the truck is gone and the dogs are too, you'll know that's where I'm at, but at that point I will not be worrying about you and Daddy worrying about ME, so I want you to know what's going to happen"
Americans, as a culture, really really suck at death. We are getting better, but it's still the boogy man taboo thing to do. You are not supposed to piss, shit, fart, belch or die. EVER. And you certainly don't talk about it.
Maybe that's why we release our sphincters at the end, we are just tired of holding it all in.
The truth is, that side of the family really does tend to just die in their sleep without much ado. And if John wants to do that that's fine with me, my feelings will not be hurt. If he chooses a more visible progression, I will be there, as promised. It's what I signed up for, and I will keep my word.
Mom and I trip over ourselves a lot trying to take care of each other. It's funny and sad at the same time. She mowed the front yard today and the crop circles are no longer stark, but are fading away. Unfortunately, now I know how it's done....heh heh heh....but I will contain myself to my own backyard. Every girl needs a hobby.