Alive or Just Here?
By Hardy Clemons
At 94 ½ my Dad’s COPD had gotten so serious that he was having great difficulty breathing and swallowing. In the last three weeks of his life, we were referred to four new doctors, none of whom knew us nor we them. Each doctor seemed highly competent clinically but less so when it came to care of the person.
On May 5th, 1998, Dad was back in the hospital because of the swallowing problem. Ardelle and I went to see him and fortunately ran into his doctor just as we got there in the hall outside Dad’s room.
I introduced myself and Ardelle to the doctor who said rather briskly, it seemed to me, “I’m going to put a peg in your Dad’s stomach this afternoon.”
“I don’t think he wants that,” I said.
“He doesn’t have any choice.”
“Sir, you seem to be assuming that I’m the decision maker here, which is not the case. Let’s go in and talk with Dad. He’s very clear.”
The doctor explained carefully what the situation was and ended by saying, “Mr. Clemons, we’ve got to install a peg this afternoon in your stomach.”
“And how will that help me?”
“It will keep you ALIVE,” the doctor said, sort of defensively.
“Will it keep me alive? Or will it just keep me here?”
At that point the doctor finally got it. My Dad was ready to die and did not want interventions that might keep him here but not genuinely alive.
“Well, we won’t put it in if you don’t want it.”
“You don’t seem to realize,” my Dad said, “that I’m ready to move on to the next thing.” Then he asked, “If we don’t do that, how long will I last?”
“About a week.”
We took Dad back to Rolling Green where he had been living. That week was indeed a sacred space! Our daughter Kay, and her kids, Jon and Lori, flew over and spent a day with him. Son-in-law Tim had a meeting in Spartanburg near-by and came for a visit. Ardelle and I spent lots of time just talking and listening to Dad.
He would say, “Who do you know who’s had a better life than I’ve had?” Then he would take his text in some portion of his life—his two great marriages, his career as a schoolman, his growing up on a farm in Southwest Oklahoma—and expand on that portion of his rich experience. He was enormously grateful for a rich and fulfilling life!
The morning of May 13, Ardelle and I went out to see him. As we walked in the Charge Nurse said, “You’re not gonna believe the breakfast your Dad ate this morning. He ate like he was going to work in the field all day.” My Dad had eaten hardly anything all that week. Couldn’t get it down. Didn’t taste good. But that morning he ate 2 eggs and ham with biscuits and gravy and some pancakes. Then he asked for more. Which they brought.
I said to the nurse, “You better watch him! He might make a pass at you.”
“O, he’s already done that!”
Dad and Ardelle and I visited about an hour and then left to go about our day. On the way home to drop Ardelle off I said, “He may outlive us all!”
Shortly after 4 o’clock my cell phone rang. My Administrative Assistant, Gloria Sargent said, “Hardy, call Rolling Green as soon as you can.” Dad had taken a nap and just didn’t wake up. He had been talking to the Chaplain earlier and they were interrupted. When he came back to pick up the visit, Dad didn’t respond. The Chaplain said they had been watching the ticker on the Stock Market and it was still scrolling across the screen.
He said Dad had been hopeful that the market would hit another new high that day. The Chaplain said Dad must have made his exit just as the market closed—at an all time high! What an interesting irony! Dad would have loved that!
When we went back to his room at Rolling Green to get his things later that week, the charge nurse called me over to the side. “Dr. Clemons,” she said, “I just want you to know how much respect I have for the decision you all have made. If you ever get to wondering if you made the right choice, come back out here and I’ll take you on a tour of the people here that decided the other way—to put the stomach peg in. You can see for yourself how valid it is.”
My Dad didn’t want to just be here. He wanted to be alive! And he is! I wish I could talk with him about the challenges he’s expecting in the next life. I’d bet a lot that he has truly moved on to the next thing!
