Today I know that I will ramble and honestly, I’m not really
looking to self-edit.
I realize that last week I was going on about the effects an
upcoming visit with my father was having on me. I had nightmares and panic
attacks in the weeks leading up to the visit. One of the terms I was sort of groping
for, something to sum up that experience was re-traumatization. But as I
started to look for a nice easy digestible definition of that phrase, I find that
one does not exist.
Now the question to be answered was: should I retraumatize
myself by seeing my father? And my answer is, “Yes.” But I do so with a fair
amount of self-awareness and a lot of self-discipline. In the days leading up
to the visit I didn’t have even a sip of alcohol. I did a lot of breathing
exercises. I was invariably lead to think of awful things said and done (spanning the years) but I
also allowed myself to remember that I left home while I was a teenager and I haven’t
looked back except in so far as to analyze. (I refuse to be bitter so I never
look back and say, “If only….” There is nothing productive in that exercise.) “So
how did the day go?” You ask. Technically it was okay. In all I spent 8 hours
with these people and I have to say it left me feeling awful. But I knew it
would leave me feeling gutted so as soon as I hit my saturation point I pulled
the rip cord. I wobbled home, crawled into bed, and curled into a ball. The day was done.
If I were a former junkie my counselor would have advised me
to avoid junk and the people and places where I could find junk. And that’s
good advice.
But I have this need to overcome these people. I
want to be near my abuser and be able to “take it.” This is not healthy but
like I’ve said, I prepped for it and I spent a total of 8 hours with them and I
could’ve left at any time but I thought, “Let’s see if I can handle it until
dinner.” (I guess you could call this the macho side of trauma.)
The nice thing about working in New York City is that a lot
of people are not in La-la land. Or at least some of the people I know are not
in La-la land so it was cool to talk with other adults who aren’t
sentimentalists who think that we have to be living these storybook lives or
else there is something wrong. As far as I’m concerned there is no pathology. I
see my father and I see someone who was abused, someone who is an alcoholic. I
see someone who was a really bad parent. And his wife is no picnic either.
All-in-all I’m good. I knew that I’d have Sunday to recover
and even though my Saturday night was filled with nightmares; Sunday night I slept
like a baby, which was a blessed relief.
But enough about me. Let’s get into the nitty gritty of
death and dying. Which is to say, let’s talk about right now.
All of the
following is true:
I have a 92 year old friend. She lives on her own and is
completely mentally with it. I saw her for dinner on Tuesday. Saturday night
she was admitted to the hospital for pneumonia. I know a 92 year old man. For
the most part this guy is totally with it. He lost his balance on Wednesday, took
a serious header -- got all banged up and bruised and was hospitalized for observation.
Aside from the obvious bruises and a concussion he’s “okay.” I know of a 72
year old woman who has started to show signs of memory loss and has been
diagnosed with the early stages of Alzheimer’s. She lives alone and basically
sits around all day watching TV.
Now the 92 years olds have money and healthcare proxies.
The 72 year old has neither money nor a health care proxy. Her kids are about
to have to figure that out.
Have you started you journal on aging? The aforementioned
are my most recent entries. And for good measure let’s add one about my
94-year-old grandmother. She sits around/lies in bed all day, never leaves the
house, and barely speaks to anyone. All of that goes into the column marked,
things to avoid in my 90s.
Do you have a health care proxy? If not, you might want to
get one. And don’t go for the obvious choice = your spouse. Go for someone who
has the balls and heart to make the difficult choices in difficult times. Pick
someone who will do exactly as you wish when you are no longer able to make
decisions for yourself. proxy
Have you started to look at who you want to be at 70 or 80
or 90? Will you live alone? Will you be home bound? Will you have enough money?
Will you have enough to eat? Will you have a roof over your head?
I’ve mentioned that I want to die young, happy, healthy and
wealthy. Yes, it’s a tall order but I’d rather put in the hours now and come as close to achieving that than find
myself bed-ridden, poor, and miserable.
You’re going to have to take my word for this: the way you
die speaks volumes about how you lived.
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