TheBanyanTree: Uncle Pete Drops Dead

[Monique Colver]

Uncle Pete dropped dead the other day at the age of 86, avoiding the long
drawn-out dying process that seems so prevalent these days. He was still
golfing occasionally, though not at the same breakneck pace as he was say,
two years ago. He was healthy, until his heart stopped right after breakfast
one morning. His wife left the room, and when she came back there he was,
only his body left behind.



This leaves my dad as the last surviving sibling. My dad, the youngest, and
the unhealthiest. My dad, who had his first heart attack 25 years ago. A
couple of heart attacks, and a couple of strokes. He's hobbled through all
the intervening years, surviving a bout of bladder cancer with no ill
effects, other than the removal of his bladder. His biggest issue these days
is his knees, but when his doctor said it was time for a knee replacement my
dad said, "I'm 83, it's not like I'm using them all that much as it is.
Forget about it, I can still walk, sort of."



And so sort of it is. He’s now using a cane, but at the grocery store he
uses the cart to balance with, so he gets around for what he needs to do.
Laundry, groceries, driving himself to and fro.

So close was my dad to death for so many years that my stepmother had
planned his funeral, and her own life after his impending death. When I'd
visit them she'd point out places she hoped to move to, once she was on her
own and dad was gone. She had her life post dad planned out, because the
doctors had been saying for years he was a time bomb just waiting to go off,
or out, as it were. I thought it the slightest bit tacky to have put so much
thought into her life post dad, but then again, I've never been in that
situation, so what do I know?



Then she dropped dead of a heart attack, not quite so swiftly as my uncle as
there was time enough for an ambulance to be called and she died on the way
to the hospital, and my dad was in a state of confusion that lasted for
years. He wasn't prepared for this. He'd thought he was going to go first.
He'd been convinced he was leaving her behind, not the other way around. I
stayed with him for a week or so after she died, and everywhere we went he
told the story of her death as if reciting lines from a play, and eventually
that made it real.



He wasn't prepared, and they had no savings, and so his four children each
paid a quarter of the cost.



That was . . . 12 years ago? Something like that. Since then he's moved,
first to a small apartment, then, after his bladder cancer episode, closer
to my sister and brothers. He lives alone, still, in an apartment in a
senior complex. My dad doesn't associate with anyone there. He says the
place is filled with old people.



I refrain from pointing out that at 83, he's getting up there himself.



His sister died years ago. His other brother, Rene, two years ago. I saw him
two years ago, he and Pete and their wives, at my brother's wedding. Rene
wasn't doing well, and he needed help ambulating. Pete looked the very
picture of health.



I found out about Pete accidentally, my family forgetting that occasionally
I like to be kept in the loop, or forgetting that I exist, one or the other,
and so I called my dad today. He said that just recently he and Pete had
been talking on the phone, as they often did, and said they needed to get
together sometime soon. This was an ongoing thing they said, "We need to get
together soon," but it never really happened, and time kept going on, and
suddenly Pete's gone, and my dad tells me that they shouldn't have kept
putting it off. Ya think? I don't say that of course. I have a bit more tact
than that.



Funeral arrangements for Pete are pending. And my dad tells me that's
already paid for his own funeral arrangements, he doesn't want the same
thing to happen that happened with his wife, when his children had to pay
for it, so that's taken care of, just in case.



In case he ever dies? He is known for defying the odds after all.



He tells me my sister has access to his bank account, so she can just take
the money out and split it up. Just in case, you understand, though people
keep telling him he’s going to live forever, but he, he has serious doubts
about this issue and he’s not counting on getting a lot more time, but he
doesn’t object to the possibility. I think he’s tired.



He asks about his first wife, my mom-with-cancer, and how she’s doing. This
is unusual in itself. He even asks about me, and how old I am, and how I’m
doing. Twice he asks me. I tell him I’m fine, couldn’t be better. I don’t
mention that I’ve inherited his wonky knees and when the time comes, I’m
going for the knee surgery because I’ll still have places to walk to. I am,
I tell him, the picture of health.



He likes that. Children that are the picture of health. He lost one son,
when I was 18, to suicide, so I think it helps to know that the rest of us
are doing well.



He says he’s doing okay. My sister and one brother, at least, will be going
with him to Pete’s funeral. He’s lucky they live close to him, for if he had
me to rely upon he’d have nothing at all. (He didn’t say that, for the
record, I did, but not to him.)

So there you have it. If you really want to see someone before they die, do
it now. They might not be here tomorrow. Or you might not. Just saying.

-- 
Monique Colver