My aunt died this past week. Thanks to Covid and living so far away from my family, it’s really highlighted the isolation I feel. Even without Covid, I wouldn’t have been able to travel to be with my family because of Jim’s limitations.

My aunt had several health issues along with a recent diagnosis of Dementia. Her symptoms, from what I can gather from family, advanced very quickly. There is a theory that some of her medications may have adversely affected her cognitive abilities. Sadly, another one of her health issues claimed her before the medication theory could be tested or reversed. My aunt was only 72.

My cousin and I had a conversation about death and compared the pros and cons of suffering a lengthy illness like our grandmother versus a shorter sickness like my aunt,  or a sudden *poof* they’re gone like my father. Also within my conversation with my cousin was the pro/con of dying too early versus living to the end with Dementia.

Not that my opinion matters because it doesn’t change anything.

I think, my aunt died too early because she was still herself. Sure, she was disoriented and she got lost in place and time but she still retained her personality, her sense of humour and she still knew her family when they came to visit. She still had a good quality of life. This is a bitter edged sword because while it’s good she didn’t suffer, it’s bad because her family didn’t have a chance to prepare for the loss. In fact, there was only a fifteen minute window between my cousin speaking with her on the phone and the call from the doctor notifying them of her death.

Everyone is devastated.

In an attempt to be soothing (which I often fail because I tend to be logic driven instead of emotional and my physical distance from my family is a barrier that isolates me from the strongest hurts) I suggested that perhaps it’s a blessing that she didn’t have to go through the advanced stages of Dementia. (thinking of the agony a friend experienced watching their father near comatose, no longer able swallow until he eventually forgot how to breathe.) To which I was told (and rightly so) she would change all of the adult diapers if it meant she could have her mother back for another day.

I know I think the same way for Jim. I will do anything to keep him healthy and happy as he declines, no matter how many diapers or spit ups I have to handle. I will gladly do the same for my mother if that time ever comes.

For my own life, I think that I’d rather fade away peacefully once I’m unaware of my surroundings and dependent on others for the simplest daily tasks. Maybe it’s because I have no children of my own and won’t feel that bond or connection with the people who will eventually have to look after me. They will be paid help not family. Perhaps that skews my perspective and denies me the incentive to prolong my existence.

When all is said and done – the alternatives all suck ass.