An excerpt of a conversation overheard last night between several elderly members of my family. The talk was brought on by the death of a great friend of my grandparents, Bob Lyons, of lung cancer on Thanksgiving day. Bob died only 3 months after his diagnosis.
Donna [age 78]: I think the ideal last days are ones like Polly had. She was peaceful, quiet, and didn’t suffer any pain.
Spence [age 68]: Yeah, I wouldn’t wish my dad’s last days on my worst enemy.
Tom [age 81]: Donna, didn’t something happen with his medications?
Donna: Yeah, they weren’t supposed to give him any antibiotics but they did anyways and it just seemed to prolong his pain for another two weeks—
Spence: He couldn’t eat, he couldn’t speak...but he seemed completely conscious the whole time.
Stephanie [age 29]: Is this all you old people do?? Talk about death??
Donna, Spence, Tom: What else is there to talk about? We’re old and we’re about to die.
Stephanie: Alright, I’m hitting the bars. You folks have a great evening with your death talk and all.
Spence: Stephanie, you’re a Communist.