Another Good Man Passes

[cnorman18]

I have mentioned before that I work as a caregiver for the elderly. The hardest part of my job came to the fore again today.

My client and friend, Ken H., died this morning. I have alluded to this man in some earlier posts.

Ken was 87, and an amputee; he had been on dialysis for 10 years, which is not supposed to be possible. He had previously defeated antibiotic-resistant staph infections (in the bone), a severe infection of the brain, numerous bouts with pneumonia, and any number of other illnesses. He was as sharp as I am on my best day till the very end.

He was a hero in many ways. He raised four fine children; I have become friends with them all, and they are all good people, like my second family now. He was a fighter-pilot trainer in WWII, and though he never made it to the war himself, he no doubt kept a lot of young men alive; he was a good instructor. His wife died three years ago, of Alzheimer's disease. He nursed her till her death, by himself, even though he was not well either. If you know anything of that disease, you know why I call him "hero."

He was fiercely independent; he mowed his own large yard with a walk-behind mower till this time last year. He bitterly resented losing his leg and becoming dependent on others for everything. He could no longer even go to the toilet by himself, and he hated it.

He was crabby as hell, and I was the only caregiver who could get along with him. I had been with him since February, from 4 to 7 days a week, in 24-hour shifts. I eventually won his trust, and we had become friends.

He had struggled with pneumonia and various other recurring infections for about a month in the ICU. After 10 years on dialysis, his immune system was virtually gone. He finally could fight no longer. He faced death as bravely and fiercely as he had faced everything: his last words to me, yesterday afternoon, were, "Get it over with," and "I need rest." Later that night, he went to sleep, and did not wake again.

He was one of the strongest, bravest, and toughest men I have ever known; his integrity was iron-hard and he asked no one for anything, ever, till he had to. I am proud to say that he finally consented to accept help from me without resenting it.

My work boils down to one thing; I am the alternative to the nursing home. I help people live out their last days with dignity. Ken is the 5th I have lost since starting this job in January, and it hurts, but I will pay that price gladly. It was an honor to know him and care for him, and I will miss him.

I may be posting erratically for a few days - either compulsively, or not at all. Bear with me. I'll be back.

Thanks for reading, and take a moment to remember and appreciate the memory of this good man.

I have no point to make here other than that. We never discussed religion.

[McCulloch]

I wish you well in this difficult time. You are doing a good thing.

[JoeyKnothead]

I hate to hear this because I know you had a great respect for your client/friend. I hope you are able to realize you gave this fellow comfort in his time of need.

[C-Nub]

Whenever something like this happens, or when people I like have birthdays, I write this, or something like this, (I rewrite it each time, after all) for those who mourn.

We are all immortal. We are massive conglomerates of matter, of free floating particles usurped from their destinies so that we might carry them as facets of ourselves. Over the course of our lives, we intercept and become billions upon billions of these particles, these atoms and molecules, and they become us. As we pass through our lives, as we pass from our lives, we release into the Universe that which we have become and has become us, and in so doing, we unwittingly, unknowingly, unfathomably even, chart the paths, lives and deaths of stars not yet formed and black holes not yet unleashed upon the galaxy and even galaxies. It is we, who by choice, by virtue of having existed as we have chosen to do, who shape the future of all creation, and in so doing, we, all of us, live forever.

I don't know if that will do you any good, but I find it comforting.