Caregiver Musing

by Susan G. Haws

I am a caregiver. While the world has learned from the Cullens that immortality isn’t all movie premieres and Volvos it does sound appealing; if you have your physical abilities and your faculties. Rather than a broken hip or osteoporosis, it would be nice if God sent emails or calligraphied snail mail saying, “your time is ticking.” Instead of a heart attack or a stroke perhaps pictures of an hourglass trickling sand or a digital countdown. One of the cruelest indignities of a frail body is a Swiss cheese memory. I say one because there are many heartless tricks the failing body plays on the soul. But memory as much air as substance does have the plus of allowing a person to think that loved ones long passed over are just in the other room, out of reach only for a moment. In God’s view I guess that is what it is. Personally, I wish God wasn’t big on bodies as biological clocks, and learning from suffering. So, while I would not want to drink blood or live with a person that might want to drink my blood I wouldn’t mind both of us being physically and mentally top notch until the moment our numbers were called.  I have to say a farewell party before transformation rather than a funeral has significant appeal.  Just thinking.