220 Grief and Loss Across the Lifespan
sense of dread a kind of denial? Did I not want to admit that this would be
the last time I would see him; my last chance to apologize for past wrongs or
slights I might not even be aware I had committed? Was I panicky because we
had lost so many opportunities to remain close and now there was no way to
“make up for lost time?”* * *He was lying in bed in the upstairs bedroom he shared with his wife. His
large dog lay beside him, panting. A TV tuned to a Washington Nationals base-
ball game stood at the foot of the bed, the sound muted. I had been forewarned
that he had lost a shocking amount of weight; his 5’10” frame now weighed
less than 100 pounds.
I pulled up a chair and sat close beside his head. His face was drawn;
his cheeks sunken. He had the look of a Holocaust survivor. The conversation
flowed easier than I would have predicted. We reminisced; talked some poli-
tics; even some sports.
I knew before coming to see him that he was ready. I even knew that he
was trying to hasten his death. He had told me on the phone that his life had
dwindled down to nothing. He took no pleasure in it any more. A star football
player in high school and more recently an avid golfer, now he couldn’t walk
or even get out of bed unassisted. He was no longer able to eat solid food and
even liquids were hard to swallow.
A tube of Chap Stick lay on a nightstand next to the bed. His lips parched,
he asked me to apply some. But when I did, supplying the smallest amount of
pressure, he cried out in pain.
His wife told me that he had wanted to live to celebrate his grandchild’s
first birthday, then only a few months off. But it was now obvious he wouldn’t
make it.
Being there, I could see for myself that he wanted to die. I know that
made it easier for him. I suppose it also made it easier for me.
I’m glad he allowed me to say good-bye to him. I don’t know that it really
mattered to him. I see it more as a gift he gave to me.
He died the morning after my visit.* * *It was his choice to be cremated. His wife wanted a burial, so they com-
promised. His ashes were placed in a wooden box and the box was buried in a
cemetery. Before it was lowered into the grave, we mourners formed a line and
passed the box from hand to hand.
Cremation seems a most civilized plan to me too and I expect I will also
chose it. But holding my cousin’s ashes was difficult. It seemed to me as though
he was hiding from us. It reminded me of the countless games of hide and seek
we played as kids.
Once the two of us hid in a storage room in the basement of one of the
apartment buildings where we lived. Oddly, reminiscing the day before he
died, he too remembered the boxes of Christmas decorations, the dust in the
room, and the fear we had that day. Did we somehow manage to lock ourselves