Spiders on the Wall

There are worse things than dying.

The old woman sees spiders on the wall and screams in terror and rage.  Ghost children steal her snack cups and tease her mercilessly.  Hard hatted construction workers clinging to the ceiling are bringing her world down around her ears.  Her deteriorating spine aches relentlessly, her bed is wet and for the moment, she's forgotten her name.  It's cold in her cheerless little room and the blankets are thin.   She's convinced the weary nurses are stealing her possessions and she protests but no one hears.  She still recognizes her family when they visit - nowhere as often as she likes or thinks they should - but for how much longer, they wonder.  She pleads with them to let her go home.

They don't use restraints here so at night she climbs over the bed railings, wraps her faded hospital gown around her and stumbles around her room.  She's battered and bruised for falling and can detail every black and blue mark on her frail old body.  Her bones seem to break on a whim here, that she can still walk at all is pretty much of a miracle.  Her family is amazed that she's survived this long and some of them have begun to think that death might actually be a blessing.  It's hard to know which is a heavier burden, keeping her alive or the guilt of almost wishing she would go.

During the days, she whines and cajoles and complains.  They manage to get her into a wheel chair and bring her near a nurse's station where she can be watched.  She picks at her food, spits out her pills, and sits miserably.  Bored, in pain, querulous and delusional, she buries her pale hag-like face in her hands and weeps.

In just a few short months, she's worn out her caregivers and exhausted her savings.  Her medications don't seem to help much anymore and no one has the courage to tell her that her house will soon have to be put up for sale or that they gave away her raggedy ass cat.  What she doesn't know can't hurt her, they tell themselves and meanwhile she longs for her dignity back and again begs them to take her home.

My own grandmother died a few days after suffering a fatal stroke and I wasn't there for any of the last days of my parents so I was spared this particular dismal slice of reality and while it may be an uncharitable thought,   I can't help feeling grateful.  No one prepares you for the horror end of life can bring.  More to the point, no one deserves it.