His son found his 84-year-old father motionless on the floor of the house where he had lived for decades. He had been dead for ten days. The son only lived 14 miles away, so it’s hard to understand why no one regularly checked on him. Maybe he didn’t want his children to check on him, or they were estranged. Perhaps his children were trying to place him in a facility, and he was determined to stay in his large house by himself until his last breath. If so, his wish was granted. While we don’t know the circumstances, it’s sad to think of him dying alone without anyone knowing he was dead until ten days later. One can only hope he didn’t suffer.
He graduated ten years before me from the small school we both attended. I would see him at a regular gathering of former students every few months for the past seven years. We were also Facebook friends. Each day, he posted several pictures of his wife, who had been dead for five or six years. His grief was palpable and all-encompassing, yet he, like many people, was doing the best he could to continue living without the love of his life. I’m confident her pictures brought him enormous comfort while those who knew him worried about his mental state. We wondered why he didn’t “move on,” but no one can predict how long or how much another person should grieve. Some of his friends referred him to grief counseling, not understanding that he was doing his best to keep her memory alive. His posts revealed they had a wonderful life together while enjoying high-level professional jobs in healthcare, frequently traveling, and raising two children who would grow up to be as successful as their parents. He repeatedly proudly posted the accomplishments of his children and grandchildren. He loved his classmates from our high school, stayed in close contact with many of them, and was a loyal UT Longhorn.
When his beloved dog died two years ago, I was sure this would be the end for him. But he kept living, frequently adding pictures of all his beloved dogs through the years on his Facebook page.
We once discussed our families of origin and shared that we were not in contact with our siblings for various reasons, although I don’t remember his side of the conversation other than he did not like his much younger brother. After his death, I learned from his brother that his wife was from a wealthy family and viewed his family as beneath her. She wanted nothing to do with them and disinvited his family to their wedding. None of his family of origin would ever know their children. I had heard she often separated herself from his former classmates at reunions, but I figured it was because we’re a rowdy bunch. After all, our fathers were blue-collar/union workers for an oil company. Still, our school was comparable to the best private schools in the country due to the oil company’s generous contributions. Over 90% of us graduated from college, with many obtaining advanced degrees—bright but blue-collar ruffians at our core. You can take the kid out of an oil town, but you can’t…never mind.
I hope there is an afterlife, and he happily joined his wife and all the dogs they once loved. May he Rest in Peace.
Families are often complex, and I'm afraid I have to disagree with anyone who claims their family is perfect. All families are on a spectrum of dysfunction…some severely dysfunctional and some not-so-severe, with most falling somewhere in between!
My only wish is that I’m not dead for ten days before someone checks on me. On the other hand, I won’t know about it, so maybe it doesn’t matter other than if my dog is still around. I wouldn’t want him to starve to death. Soon, I will form a loose circle of friends and acquaintances who take turns checking on each other, thus preventing a putrid odor from emitting from my apartment and ensuring my dog is fed. I’ve heard they’ll start eating their dead owner rather than starve to death. Perish the thought, and pardon the pun!
“Don’t be afraid your life will end; be afraid it will never begin.” Alex Cerball
