It can take a long time to be born. Sometimes (as in the case of my kids) it is a precipitous event. Other times, it can go on for days. The latter is the case with my mother-in-law, who is now actively dying. Death, too, is another birth—a birth to a new life, a life without the body that has ceased to sustain you.
For my wife, who is a palliative care advance practice nurse, it is a different mode. She can no longer be in “nurse” mode. She is in daughter mode. She is up at night with mom (as we all are). She sits by her side. There is discussion of this or that medicine, this or that dose. There is observation of signs, sounds. And it goes on day after day.
She speaks of a party. There is going to be a party. There has to be “tuna noodle.” “I don’t have the strength to make it, but there is tuna in the cupboard.”
So we have our last request: make tuna casserole for the party. We run to Krogers to get cream of mushroom soup. I have not made tuna noodle casserole for twenty years. We set out a place for the spirits who are coming to the party, for Annette’s husband Paul, who loved this dish. We toast with wine. And we wait. So death drags on in our society, by turns beautiful and painful and exhausting.
