A Good Death?
https://docs.google.com/document/d/1hEDXNOE5e1WHXxW68GIVxY5-6jvbJ8PJq-k9Cc-hJXc/edit?usp=sharing
A “Good” Death?
Rick Planos, September 2023
I heard this term used over the years but never thought much about it until I lost my parents. On the surface, neither of their passing seemed like a “good” death. In reality, is there ever such a thing? Death is terrible, sad, heartbreaking, forever, tragic, and usually painful for all concerned. But as time has passed and I have lost more friends and relatives while gaining a bit of clarity, I can see that both of my parents were blessed with ‘good’ deaths and those of us left behind have benefited greatly from seeing things from that perspective.
My Father died first. At 79 he appeared very healthy, one day he felt a bit short of breath on his beloved hometown golf course and went the next day to the Doctor. He had a blockage that would require heart surgery. Being a fearless guy, he signed right up with the noted head of surgery, and two weeks later we waited anxiously while he sailed through 7 hours of open-heart surgery with flying colors. In typical Dad fashion, he had also volunteered for a clinical trial where he would be given ½ the normal anesthetic, and that did not phase him either. The next day when he walked unassisted from intensive care to a regular room, the surgeon told us what we already knew, Dad was a beast and would surely live to be 125 with his improved heart. The surgeon, 55 years old himself, had never once seen anyone walk to their room the day after such bypass surgery. Three days later, as we were planning his triumphant Father’s Day homecoming he suddenly developed breathing issues and in fifteen minutes he was gone forever. Watching this horror movie unfold before my very eyes alongside my Mother was terrible, but quick. From start to finish it was less than 15 minutes. I’ve read and reread the 40 page autopsy several times but there really is no explanation, no heart attack, no blood clot, he just died. The surgeon’s explanation was even less satisfying, he shared the incredibly self serving “ sometimes the surgery is a success and the patient still dies.” We switched hospitals the next week.
Every day for a year I would cry, thinking of how we all were shortchanged in this deal, especially my Dad. It was about 5 years later that I came across Dr. B. J. Miller, from Mettle Health. Dr. Miller is the inventor of palliative care, and a very smart man who is on a mission to normalize death and the dying process. Hearing Dr. Miller, and reading his book, A Beginner’s Guide to the End, opened my eyes to a far less negative view of the end of life. We are all going to die at some time, it is a natural part of life, and we do not normally get to choose how that is going to happen, so why treat it as a dirty word we never discuss? Why is death a dirty word that we all try to sweep under the carpet? Dr. Miller’s teachings helped me immensely through my first step in better understanding the end we will all eventually face.
My Mother actually bounced back faster than I did from my Father’s passing. She missed him, but she was always independent and had plenty of interests of her own. First up was redecorating all those things that she wanted and he didn’t- out went the carpet, in came the hardwood floors. Luckily my parents had been smart with their money and they had a “Japanese Marriage” where my Mom managed all the money and knew where it all was hidden. Mom also loved golf and managed to play several times a week up until the end, during summers in Illinois, and winters in Maui, where she was blessed with a golf pro son who showered her with free tee times. She saw her grandchildren get married, she attended a lot of funerals, but generally she enjoyed life as a widow.
Ten years after Dad passed, Mom developed Alzheimer’s disease. She adapted as well as could be expected, and was lucky to have a slow progression of the disease. It was sad, but there were some bright spots. She no longer could cook, but suddenly she could paint, something she had never revealed before. While she didn’t remember ever seeing the musical South Pacific, she managed to sing along to the entire score, even the French parts. She had never studied French. She still played golf, but now someone else kept score. She stayed in her home, but now I did the cooking and driving. Things got worse in the last year, but she still knew who her kids and grandkids were. When her time to pass arrived, she was in her own living room (now with hardwood floors) under home hospice care, planning a trip to Manhattan to visit her soon to be born first Great Grandchild. The day before she had told the hospice nurse how glad she was to receive her absentee ballot to ensure her first-ever vote for a Democratic Presidential Candidate (Biden) would register in time.
On our last day together, as I held her hand waiting for her to pass to the other side, I was surprisingly calm and tearless. After all, what was there to be sad about? Mom had seen everything in her life, a happy childhood, a loving marriage, four uniquely talented kids, four beautiful and even more talented grandchildren, and even earning the highest bid on her painting from a benefit at her senior center. Mom was 91, she was ready for whatever was next, and her brain had worn out. Mom wasn’t in pain. She got a good ending.
Through rereading Dr. Miller, I came to realize my Father also had gotten a ‘ good’ death also. Dad would never handled being sick, he hated being the patient. It would have broken my Dad’s heart to see his wife decline, and to be honest, he would have made a poor caregiver for her. My Dad would have hated seeing his golf drive shrink to 100 yards. He had still been hitting them 200 + yards 2 weeks before he had passed. As much as a hard worker my Dad was, he never wrote checks and would have struggled if Mom had passed before him. My Dad never knew what hit him in the end, and we all remember him as in the Bob Dylan song, Forever Young. It may have taken me fifteen years, but now I smile when I think of both of my parents, not cry. Someone smarter than me planned a good death for both of them.