The death you imagine

Odds are, you won’t get it. Maybe a small percentage. If you’ve seen the same movies I have, the soon-to-depart are at home in their comfortable, white linen beds, surrounded by family, the light perfect through the window, their face in a beatific glow, a sublime peace for a life well lived, ready for whatever’s next. I’m not a professional in this world, but I am at the age where friends and family have navigated this road, and spent endless hours in (US) assisted living facilities, observing, listening. The one common theme is that they didn’t think it would be like this. You will probably be cared for by underpaid strangers who are responsible for 20 or more people at any one time. Turnover is high. You make up stories about them. The caregivers are angels if they talk to you for one extra minute, they resent or hate you if they rush away. The food is too bland or overspiced, the room too hot or too cold, the TV too quiet or too loud. You have pains and discomfort you can’t…

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