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Letting Go of the Ones We Love
Sometimes, autonomy is the greatest gift
My friend is fighting for his life. He had an emergency surgery that led to an infection that led to a second emergency surgery, then a third, followed by setback after setback. He is now malnourished and his malnourishment is wreaking havoc on his newly frail form. It could kill him.
He lays in his bed, muscle mass melting, his spirit ebbing like the tide. Some days he brings the fight: We walk, he sits in the chair, he accepts visitors, and his eyes sparkle. On other days, he surrenders to the weakness. There is only so much a 90-year-old body can take.
I hold his hand, fill in when his family cannot, and we watch tennis or we sit in silence. I crack bad jokes and show him videos of dogs. I keep things breezy but don’t bullshit. I don’t say “You will get better” or “You’ll be out of here soon” because I do not know if that is true. I remind him he has a lot to live for but I also nod in agreement when he wonders out loud about what his life will look like.
This is losing autonomy after a lifetime of fierce independence.
Yesterday, he told me he was tired of being told to eat. He does not want to hear it from his doctors, his children, or his friends. “I am not an idiot,” he says…
