An Appointment with Death
Open thread: What do you think?
First thing this morning, a death-obsessed relative who is roughly my age (59) sent me a link:
Good morning!
She’s a contradiction, this relative — announcing regularly that she’s READY TO DIE and extolling the virtues of dying before decline, while frantically following a plant based diet, the right amount of exercise, daily yoga and meditation, yada yada. All the life extenders.
Beyond the clickbait title, Ezekiel J. Emanuel makes the argument that, “society and families—and you—will be better off if nature takes its course swiftly and promptly.”
I don’t agree. Or rather, I agree in part but think the approach is flawed. A swift and early death is welcome in some cases, for sure. There’s no appeal in the long, miserable decline of disease and dementia. “I think this manic desperation to endlessly extend life is misguided and potentially destructive,” he writes, and I agree.
Is preemptive death the answer to the possibility of suffering, though? Might 75 be early for a lot of us? Isn’t an arbitrary number in the distant, unknown future just a shot in the dark? A failure of imagination?
He was 57 when he wrote this in 2014. What could he know of 75? (I’d love his opinion today, with only 9 years left.) As we age, he argues:
“We accommodate our physical and mental limitations. Our expectations shrink. Aware of our diminishing capacities, we choose ever more restricted activities and projects, to ensure we can fulfill them. Indeed, this constriction happens almost imperceptibly. Over time, and without our conscious choice, we transform our lives. We don’t notice that we are aspiring to and doing less and less. And so we remain content, but the canvas is now tiny.”
Yes, we change! If we’re lucky (and smart), we adjust to and accommodate aging, throughout life. Aging is a gift, as long as it’s light enough on the suffering. I’m happy for my canvas, no matter the size.
He says, of parents:
“ … they set expectations, render judgments, impose their opinions, interfere, and are generally a looming presence for even adult children. … And while children can never fully escape this weight even after a parent dies, there is much less pressure to conform to parental expectations and demands after they are gone.”
Die early and spare your adult children!
“When parents live to 75, children have had the joys of a rich relationship with their parents, but also have enough time for their own lives, out of their parents’ shadows.”
Wow. Someone did not enjoy his parents.
Old people are an important part of the great story of life, and should be included and respected regardless of their infirmities (or difficult personalities). America isolates elders and perpetuates toxic, ageist bullshit that renders them ‘useless.’ Use them! Enjoy them! Learn from them!
He writes about the “American immortal,” those who chase life-extending at all costs. They drink this and take that, exercise into oblivion and have no fun in the hope that it will keep them alive. I see the folly in this approach and, though I try to avoid too much bad behavior, I’m not so good it sucks the joy.
He asks in the end, “Are we to embrace the “American immortal” or my “75 and no more” view?”
Why this binary?
How about a middle ground: Live well and try to die well, which none of us, in spite of our control freakishness, can control.
This is a man who is crowing about climbing Kilimanjaro while writing about pulling the plug. He wants control over an ungovernable world and his fathomless life. I get it! We’d all like a script, a clue about what will happen. We’d all like a little control, many of us tantrum our way through the lifelong lack of it. My death-obsessed relative and, I would argue, this writer are particularly terrified of death.
Isn’t his “deadline” akin to the concept of “never-ending”? Aren’t they both, the planner and the immortal, just desperate to control the narrative?
Alain de Botton writes in his wonderful essay How to Lengthen Your Life (thanks
for sharing): “It takes a rabid lack of imagination to think we have to go to Machu Picchu to find something new to perceive.” Or Kilimanjaro.Quality of life is the crux, not a number. Some, like my grandfather, will die in their 50s. Others will live well and happily into their 80s and 90s. Bea, my 96-year-old, sharp-as-a-tack aunt, making jam for everyone, sharing stories of her youth and commiserating about current events. Evelyn, my vivacious 86-year-old aunt who had a stroke and was given a dire diagnosis. She said take me home and let me die, and they did. Until that event, she was vibrant and busy. Travel, family, swim classes, book club, her signature brunch Mimosa made with vodka (is this a thing?). Yes, she had arthritis, she endured hip surgery and hearing aids, but she was happy and great fun. We were delighted to have her. 75 was not her deadline.
I am not “eternally optimistic” or sure that I’m exceptional, as Emanuel posits about those who reject his 75 and done thesis. I know I could die tomorrow — my ill-behaved thyroid, a virus, a bad trip down the stairs, a chicken bone, an unknown disease festering away inside of me. I am very well aware of impending death and trying hard to get my arms around the concept in spite of a culture that would have us ignore it. I think the problem lies, not in unnaturally extended life (though this is a valid conversation to have) but in the American discomfort with death and aging.
We don’t respect our elders, we don’t take care of them, and therefore we don’t want to be them. This is the thing that needs to change, so that everyone can live to their own end with dignity and reasonable comfort. Who’s to say that my best work and brightest happiness isn’t years away? Who can know and why assume the worst? It’s not optimistic, it’s just hopeful.
Otherwise, if I die, I die.
The only plan I’m making is this:
“We should be aiming to lead lives that feel long because we manage to imbue them with the right sort of open-hearted appreciation and unsnobbish receptivity, the kind that five-year-olds know naturally how to bring to bear. We need to pause and look at one another’s faces, study the sky, wonder at the eddies and colors of the river, and dare to ask the kinds of questions that open others’ souls. We don’t need to add years; we need to densify the time we have left by ensuring that every day is lived consciously—and we can do this via a maneuver as simple as it is momentous: by starting to notice all that we have as yet only seen.” — Alain de Botton
I’d love to know what you all think about this, the essay and the concept. We all want a good death, but do we all want a planned death? Should there be a deadline? There’s a lot of brilliant chatter here about aging and death (looking at you
) — let’s talk about it!💀 Lisa
Love this essay! There’ve been a number of recent pieces on “how to live forever” that have me rolling my eyes—LOL, no thank you.
As for myself, I am in favor of a planned passing. I know this has been shaped by living too long in Texas, a state which prohibits female bodily autonomy, and so I’ve decided that, if possible, I will claim some agency for myself at the end.
Now my grandmother lived a vivacious 96(!) years, and while I’d love the same for myself, I sometimes look around at the state of the world (and the lack of pensions and safety nets) and think, “96? In this economy?” 😆
My mom is 87 and has dementia. She has no quality of life anymore. It's terrible for everyone involved. My aunt, on the other hand is 92 and, while showing signs of cognitive decline, her years from 80, when my mom started showing signs of dementia, to 92 have been full of life and happiness. There is just no way to predict when life will go from a gift to a burden. My dad died at 74 when I was 16 and I'd certainly have liked another decade or more with him. Nobody knows how long they have, or if they'll live beyond their mind or body's ability to thrive. That's the deal, the human condition. Certainly is not part of the bargain, but joy can be. If you don't want your adult kids to wish for your death with anything other than mercy in their hearts, don't be a shitty parent.