Death

“Oh death, where is thy sting?”

“Oh grave, where is thy victory?”

Those words were spoken at my Mothers’ memorial service in West Palm Beach, Florida in 1982. I have been thinking about death a lot lately, six months since Andre’s death, and on the occasion of Valentine’s Day. I miss him more than ever. And Mother. I think about my own impending death. I didn’t expect to see another spring. I thought I would go with him. Part of me wanted to go. I thought I would have a stroke when he died, since Mother and Granny had strokes. I had a very bad fall on the stairs, and almost died from constipation! But here I am at 95, seeing the Ornamental Pear trees on F street blossoming again, two rows of festive white bridesmaids on each side of the street. And seeing tiny green leaves appearing on the bare branches. I didn’t expect to be here this spring.

Several years ago, I told Dr. Steve Walsh, my San Francisco psychiatrist about the feeling I had that a huge avalanche was slowly coming down the mountain, heading for me. I remembered the muffled roar of those in Wengen, Switzerland during our sabbatical year in the ’70s. The villagers build fences on their mountains to block the avalanches from destroying their villages. I felt I couldn’t save myself. My legs were paralyzed. I was doomed. 

A few years ago, after Andre had been diagnosed as having Dementia, and I was his 24 hr caregiver, I woke up one morning and couldn’t walk! My legs were stiff. I could hardly make it to the nearby bathroom. Dr. Scallopino said I had a rheumatic condition quite common among older people like me. She put me on a low dose of Prednisone, a steroid which may eventually soften my bones. Doing Yoga and exercises every morning, trying to play tennis and taking weekly lessons, has kept me going. But the avalanche is still coming toward me slowly but surely. I feel doomed. Did I think I could live forever like the goddesses on Mt. Olympus?