My parents are both in their 80's and it all seems to have happened pretty suddenly. They're old. My Dad's hair is white and his mind is still very much in tact but his heart is taxed and tired. My Mom still dyes her hair an ash blonde color in spite of the fact that her dementia has moved in to high gear. Neither of them looks their age and lately, I kind of wish they did. I feel like it would help me grasp the fact that they're, well, elderly. My father talks about his death often and mostly in terms of the things he's going to leave behind for me and my siblings. He's already given several of his more treasured things away to us. I think he's a little afraid to die - not because he thinks he's going to live forever or even that he'd like to - it's because he doesn't ever want to miss his next meal, a Yankee game or a rerun of Gunga Din on AMC. My mother, on the other hand, will go out swearing and hanging on to the bed post with all four limbs, dementia and death be damned.
I have very recently begun a practice called "Living Fearlessly" with the Zen teachers Koshin Paley Ellison and Robert Chodo Campbell who are the co-founders of the New York Zen Center For Contemplative Care. The practice, in a nutshell, is to live from now until June of next year as if these were the last months of my life. There are approximately 22 people in the group and we met for the first time last Wednesday.
One of the early benefits I'm experiencing with this Zen practice is that I'm very aware of who and what I want to spend my time and energy on. My time is extra precious. On this there is no longer any room for compromise. I've always thought of myself as someone who has a keen awareness of when and how I'm being drained and filled up and while that may be true, I don't think I've always honored that awareness.
My Dad told me stories, while we were on the phone a few days ago, about dead bodies he saw when he was a cop. I'm not sure how we got on to the subject of death but it seems we often do. He's being matter-of-fact and, I know, trying to prepare me for the fact that he's going to be dead some day, probably sooner rather than later. He said he had one wish and that was that he'd like to be buried, not cremated -( unlike my mother who has,at least a hundred times, said "don't spend the money on a friggin' coffin! just cremate me and throw the ashes wherever the hell you want!") - and on his headstone he wants written,
"I TOLD YOU I WAS SICK."
