There were good days and bad days. On the good days, someone died. On the bad days, the cafeteria in the basement served mystery meat. Today was a good day, Mr Marshall in Room 4 took his last breath. It seemed sudden at the time, but he was on the fast track out. He hadn’t gained consciousness for over 24 hours. It was time. His last breath just left him and that was that. It was late afternoon and his family was there. They had been holding an around the clock vigil since Monday, someone was always there. He was like the sand running out of a clock. They stood around not really knowing what to do. Not looking at each other, crying and hugging, taking small steps. And then, the youngest son went to tell the nurse. They tidied up the room, gathering up their books and iPads. They put the cups and the clutter into the garbage can. They left the furniture where it was and shuffled out.
We saw it all the time. Most people die in a hospital or a hospice. It’s good when they go. Life happens fast, but death lingers grinding you down until you’re more than ready.
What gets me is that all that knowledge and personality are just gone. The books and clothes, coins and shoes find new homes. The bathroom stuff gets chucked out right away and other collections get given away or thrown away later. “What am I going to do with all that red wine?”. “Do you want a set of golf clubs?” “What am I going to do with all these tools?”
And then we forget, mostly. We move on, living life not really thinking about when our time comes.
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