The Good Blood, Part 2
Thinking about how to Mr. Rogers my own end of life plans because I'm not getting any younger.
You don't have to say you love me, just click ❤️ & warm my own cold, cold heart.
So, Mom is still here, and barring a stroke or a driver running a red light, she probably will be for some time.
I had a trust drawn up to manage her care if I die first. Because I could. It’s possible, more so each day as I get older each day and she apparently, does not. Her blood work is better than mine.
She’s three cherries on a slot machine.
I’ve talked to/supported/advised a lot of people about caring for their loved—or not so loved—ones with dementia: aunts, uncles, parents. Friends and strangers came to me for support and advice in the beginnings of their journeys.
With only one or two exceptions, their people, their LOWD1 are dead. Almost all Mom’s assisted living posse are dead. Her friends got Parkinsons, cancer, heart attacks or something else—they’re dead.
The cheese stands alone.
We’d been having the end of life discussions since I was a child, but never the What Should Jodi Do If Mommy Goes Bonkers Before She Can Kill Herself discussions. See below ⬇️
Let’s talk about the dénouement
We’re having that discussion about me, now. With you. With the world. Now. Here.
A friend who’d been dealing with serious health issues for years stepped in front of a subway train. She was tired. She was done.
Years ago, a boyfriend intentionally overdosed. I assumed then & still believe what overwhelmed him was what overwhelms anyone who takes themselves out. What overwhelmed my train friend as well.
The pain of living outweighs the fear of dying.
We all have the right to decide how much to fight, how long, in what conditions. But we don’t have the right to fuck up someone else’s head in the process.
The trainman who witnessed my friend stepping out into the darkness to kiss a speeding subway train, would’ve been traumatized, possibly years of either therapy or self-medicating when all he did that night was his job. She involved a third party, parties, took away their choice.
My boyfriend cleared his calendar for the following day. He was in pain and made what felt like the right choice to him, the only choice. He swallowed three vials of barbiturates, more than enough to be sure he’d never wake up, and laid down in bed next to a girl named Linda. I didn’t feel sorry for her fifty years ago, I hated her. That was then. But, Linda went to sleep curled next to a hot young blonde and woke up next to a dead boy.
How many years of therapy did that need?
When Mom was still only a little wacky, she’d joke about running into traffic to kill herself. It was a joke because she needed a walker and was still pokey—they’re built for stability, not speed. Any car, at almost any speed, would’ve had more than enough time to stop, but just in case, I pointed out that being dead would certainly stop the progression of her disease, but she’d be scarring a stranger for life.
It’s an effective argument because she’s always been more concerned with other people’s feelings than her own.2
If I find myself in that position, any of those positions, if I’m still capable of making decisions and taking actions and life’s too painful for whatever reason, or I see bonkers looming on the horizon and the horizon rushing towards me, I’ma take definitive action.
And like mother, like daughter, I don’t want to traumatize anyone to do it. I’m not willing to take the karmic hit for screwing up someone else’s life & mental well-being just for my own convenience.
I’d hope I’m clear-headed enough to make my final act considerate,3 to be a good neighbor, and that I’ve surrounded myself with people who support that decision. I have two of those death planners4 in the house. We’ll have those What Should (Your Name Here) Do If Jodi Goes Bonkers Before She Can Kill Herself conversations individually. Zoom calendar invites to come. 😉
Loved One With Dementia (LOWD), Mother In Law With Dementia (MIL), and so on.
aka being a People Pleaser
Don’t worry, there’s nothing on the horizon, no plans, no suicidal ideation, just planning — retirement accounts, living wills, asset distribution, exit strategy, soundtrack for the shiva.
Much cheaper on Temu
Thank you for reading. If you like what you see, Don’t Keep Me a Secret!
🩵 Buy me a hot cuppa now and then…coffee, food of the gods
Listen, Jodi. I've already been included in someone's end of life planning as her death doula-provider-conveyer. It requires a trip to Vermont. Sign me up! I'm a believer.
I'm a middle-aged, single gay man, with dementia running on both sides of the family, and I can't help thinking - quite often - about checking myself out if/when dementia creeps up on me. It's a really good point you make, though, about the years of therapy you might inflict on someone else if you don't plan that exit carefully.