Get Busy Livin'
I picked this title from a Stephen King quote, although the first time I heard it was from the Frank Darabont adaptation of King's novella Rita Hayworth and the Shawshank Redemption. The quote is from Andy Dufresne and reads "Get busy living, or get busy dying."
I've spent the last week staying the nights with my Mom's stepdad while my Mamaw was visiting family in Virginia. They (my Mamaw and Papaw) have been married since before I was born, so we've always been close despite there not being any blood relation. Papaw (I nick-named him very young) DudSpud is semi-dependant, having had a couple serious strokes a few years back. Basically he doesn't walk so well, which has directly lead to him not doing much for himself any time he can get away with it. He relies on a wheel chair much of the time even though he is capable of walking, and physical therapists say that his condition could improve if he's willing to work on building some muscle mass and joint flexibility.
Anyway, he's pretty semi-dependant right now so someone had to be there all the time. His stepkids (my mother and her two sisters) and one of his two sons divied up day time hours and I spent from about 8 o'clock at night until 8 in the morning with him every night. I volunteered for the long shift because even though it put me there for the most hours, they were fairly easy hours when he was sleeping, or at least when he was supposed to sleep. heh. I mostly read with a bathroom break averaging every two hours throughout the night. I got to catch up on some books that I wanted to read -- even though I've been a reading fool this past year I've seriously slacked since I moved out of my house and inheritied mindless cable television and free internet access whenever I feel like it. I'm a fucking addict.
All that back story to say that I realized something that's been gnawing at me for some time. Hanging out with a 70 something, physically deteriorated man gave me a lot to ponder on - bringing some buried fears to the surface. See, I'm not really afraid to die. I haven't been for some time -- even if there's nothing out there after this world (which I don't really believe,) I'm more than willing to go when my time is up. I don't think that most people are afraid to die, really. I mean why would you be? If you are a religious person, that is to say that if you prescribe a belief system that deals with the afterlife, then you probably feel like you're going to be rewarded or taken care of in the very least. And if you don't have a belief system at all, then you probably don't worry about it too much, unless you're obsessed about going up in a cloud of nothingness (that I could understand a little better than say believing in hell and then believing that you're going to hell. If you think about it you don't really get too many people who actually believe in hell saying tha they'll be there some day -- rather, they like to make reservations for other people.) In fact, I'm quite sure that me and most of the rest of the world would rather die, even if it is a harrowing, violent death, as long as it's fairly quick rather than having some long drawn out illness that might involves minor pain that builds and builds over time and leaves you unable to care for yourself. I figured that it's the thought of aging that bothers me. It really upset me to think that some day I might not be locomotive. Not being able to wipe my ass I can make a joke about, but not being able to get up from a chair, or out of bed and walk to the place I'm going -- there's nothing funny about that to me. It's scary.
Dunno -- That's just what's been on my mind these last few days and so I figured I would put it down here. I made a fuss about restarting up this blog and then didn't write in it for over a week. doh!
Other than my own personal bullshit, I have to say that the most easily defined emotion that I've felt taking care of DudSpud is honored. It has always sickened me (in a wholly mental way) that we (as a society) treats our elders as burdens -- I was happy (and a little suprised) that it felt good to help him get where he was going. And although it's a little weird to know first hand that my Papaw is circumcised -- the whole wiping someone else's ass thing is breezy.
yes, that was a fart joke.
edit: Upon rereading after posting this it came to me that perhaps the title makes it sound like I'm implying that my Papaw ought to "get busy dying." That wasn't in my mind at all -- just wanted to make that crystal, yeah?
I've spent the last week staying the nights with my Mom's stepdad while my Mamaw was visiting family in Virginia. They (my Mamaw and Papaw) have been married since before I was born, so we've always been close despite there not being any blood relation. Papaw (I nick-named him very young) DudSpud is semi-dependant, having had a couple serious strokes a few years back. Basically he doesn't walk so well, which has directly lead to him not doing much for himself any time he can get away with it. He relies on a wheel chair much of the time even though he is capable of walking, and physical therapists say that his condition could improve if he's willing to work on building some muscle mass and joint flexibility.
Anyway, he's pretty semi-dependant right now so someone had to be there all the time. His stepkids (my mother and her two sisters) and one of his two sons divied up day time hours and I spent from about 8 o'clock at night until 8 in the morning with him every night. I volunteered for the long shift because even though it put me there for the most hours, they were fairly easy hours when he was sleeping, or at least when he was supposed to sleep. heh. I mostly read with a bathroom break averaging every two hours throughout the night. I got to catch up on some books that I wanted to read -- even though I've been a reading fool this past year I've seriously slacked since I moved out of my house and inheritied mindless cable television and free internet access whenever I feel like it. I'm a fucking addict.
All that back story to say that I realized something that's been gnawing at me for some time. Hanging out with a 70 something, physically deteriorated man gave me a lot to ponder on - bringing some buried fears to the surface. See, I'm not really afraid to die. I haven't been for some time -- even if there's nothing out there after this world (which I don't really believe,) I'm more than willing to go when my time is up. I don't think that most people are afraid to die, really. I mean why would you be? If you are a religious person, that is to say that if you prescribe a belief system that deals with the afterlife, then you probably feel like you're going to be rewarded or taken care of in the very least. And if you don't have a belief system at all, then you probably don't worry about it too much, unless you're obsessed about going up in a cloud of nothingness (that I could understand a little better than say believing in hell and then believing that you're going to hell. If you think about it you don't really get too many people who actually believe in hell saying tha they'll be there some day -- rather, they like to make reservations for other people.) In fact, I'm quite sure that me and most of the rest of the world would rather die, even if it is a harrowing, violent death, as long as it's fairly quick rather than having some long drawn out illness that might involves minor pain that builds and builds over time and leaves you unable to care for yourself. I figured that it's the thought of aging that bothers me. It really upset me to think that some day I might not be locomotive. Not being able to wipe my ass I can make a joke about, but not being able to get up from a chair, or out of bed and walk to the place I'm going -- there's nothing funny about that to me. It's scary.
Dunno -- That's just what's been on my mind these last few days and so I figured I would put it down here. I made a fuss about restarting up this blog and then didn't write in it for over a week. doh!
Other than my own personal bullshit, I have to say that the most easily defined emotion that I've felt taking care of DudSpud is honored. It has always sickened me (in a wholly mental way) that we (as a society) treats our elders as burdens -- I was happy (and a little suprised) that it felt good to help him get where he was going. And although it's a little weird to know first hand that my Papaw is circumcised -- the whole wiping someone else's ass thing is breezy.
yes, that was a fart joke.
edit: Upon rereading after posting this it came to me that perhaps the title makes it sound like I'm implying that my Papaw ought to "get busy dying." That wasn't in my mind at all -- just wanted to make that crystal, yeah?
posted by taliendo at
3:57 AM
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