Chez StanMinn Communiqués: Death's Dark Days

Moose shuffled off his mortal coil Sunday night.

3/18/03-8/9/15

On the 20th anniversary of Jerome John Garcia's death, so that'll be easy to remember.
August 9th.
Instead of rehashing it all, here's a copy of the email I sent to the friends and family who will hold us close in our time of loss and not deride us for being so affected by a mere cat.

"Moose just up and died last night.
We suspect it was the same condition that took his sister, Minnie Pie: heart murmur manifested in some kind of an attack.
Tho' the professionals are loathe to admit to it actually being called a heart attack.
He'd had a nice Moose day.
Snoozing in comfort while we were at home being lay-abouts for the most part.
C's making plum jam, playing games, I'm trying to get my head into FF, made some various sundries and were starting to call it a night, around 9 or so.
I think he'd just come from some crunchies and was resuming his position.
Then there was that all too familiar howl from the living room floor in front of C and by the time I got there, not seconds later, I think the spirit was out of his body.
So quick, for that we are thankful.
But what a shock.
Just a regular day ending in such an unexpected way.
He was such a big galoot, so gentle and sweet.

And so many funny characteristics.
Lots of songs to and about him, and he'd always sing along and answer to anything resembling his name.
We inherited him from Ballsack when he was a scrawny scaredy cat and look what he became.
And deeply fond of C.
I'm so glad I took pix of him this AM- looking back I'd not in a long time, this was just a lucky co-incidence.
And now my day is going to be digging into that hard Earth next to Zabby; I think Minnie will keep him company- she's been waiting for a friend.
Of the 3 Borg, now there is one.
All of Granpa Barrett's little buddies are leaving him behind.
I'd never have guessed.
Thanks for the heartthoughts, and thanks for letting me share.
Not everyone knows how these little critters are actually important family members and when one checks out, it just messes things up"

It seems that I've been cloaked in Death's Dark Shroud as of late.
Not that folks I'm particularly close to have moved on, but that there are so many tangents is what's amazing.
A short list:
One of my first clients succumbed quickly from brain cancer; he was only 7 yrs. older than me.
An old co-worker's granddaughter she'd brought up as her own was in a grisly DUI truck accident; she was only 20 yrs. old.
A friend's father finally died after a long illness.
As did another's mother.
A HS classmate was found unresponsive for an undeclared amount of time, but was resuscitated long enough for her family to gather to send her off; she was only 52 yrs. old.
CAM's uncle suffered a massive heart attack; he was 77 yrs. and had lived a good life- we decided this is the desirable way to exit.
24 hrs. before Moose died, I was PMing another HS buddy re the sudden death of his pal who was only 62 yrs. old.
A friend's sister lost her much anticipated firstborn to a stillbirth.
My Hospice co-ordinator's SIL at long last perished of her insidious cancer; again not too old.
A most beloved musician about town lost his youngest son, only 2 days into 31 yrs, to an auto accident.
And yet another to a motorcycle hit and run.
One of my mother's dear friends lost her daughter to a nasty fight with cancer, leaving behind a young family.
And I'm going to add Cecil The Lion to this as his murder was tragic.
Not to mention that I still suffer the loss of my dog back in February.

But I don't shudder from death; I feel I've always had a healthy recognition and relationship with this inevitability.
So much in fact, that the topic comes up frequently and comfortably by me, therein alienating many who don't feel similarly.
That's why my association with Hospice makes sense and I can approach those in their final days without getting all worked up or freaked out.
Perhaps also the mortician's blood on my dad's side runs in my veins, which makes me less squeamish.
Or maybe it was that during my formative years as a child, the book 'Alive' had come out and made such an impression on my morbid family, that at just about every gathering, I can recall the conversation turning back to who would want to be eaten, who would honor that request to survive, who would by all means neither consume nor choose to be...
You get the picture, the options were endless.
(And disturbing.)
Yet, I remain a staunch proponent of death with dignity- however it manifests.
(Needless to say, I support Compassion and Choices and am especially proud of my forward thinking state who long before I moved here agreed this was wise.)
I believe we have a far too unhealthy relationship with mortality.
Books, articles and reams of studies and information are appearing lately to support a more natural and realistic approach to our end days.
Slowly, our society is coming around again to how folks used to manage death before the industrial revolution: there is a yearning for honest simplicity in coping with loss.
I'll spare you the stats and findings; surely if interested a quick trip to the library and/or Google could hook you up.
But I will say that the majority of the population would rather go peacefully at home surrounded by loved ones than end up in a hospital attached to machines and monitors in a futile attempt to allude the impossible.
This is not what we call 'a good death.'
Yet that's exactly what happens.
Our current health care system is out of whack; Dr.s, nurses, staff, insurers, et al.
These grandiose attempts to thwart dying are in opposition to the very oath taken: do no harm.
But that's exactly what's happening.
Trying to beat death, to offer false hope in the face of truth, is disingenuous and dangerous.
These unnatural heroics actually prolong suffering.
Better you should be prepared and embrace the transition as its harshness will soften and grieving may begin, which is integral to the process.
I don't doubt the professionals mean well, despite their god-complex; but that there's big $$ at stake in our broken model is undeniable.
That's why you should absolutely start contemplating and talking about your end days- doing so will demystify them and make the subject less taboo in our wider population.
Doing so also makes you more of a participant and decision maker now when you're still able versus hoping someone will advocate what they think you might have wanted on your behalf later, when it's likely too late.
Write it down.
Let people know.
And most importantly, get good with it yourself.
Because you may try to run, but this is the one thing in life that you will never be able to hide from, no matter how hard you try.

So to date, I've now had 2 hens, 2 cats and a dog die in my arms since living at Chez StanMinn.
Given that there are a fair amount of critters still alive out here, I don't see that ending anytime soon.
And such is the circle of life: we can not avoid it, might as well embrace it.
As I give them a charmed and privileged existence while they share this plane with me, so too shall I ensure their last breath is lovingly peaceful.

'Til we meet again at The Rainbow Bridge, my dears, be well and free!