I am quite aware that it is unseemly of me to dictate an essay on saintly matters and other ecclesiastical thoughts. Be that it as it may, on this Yom Kippur afternoon that is where my thoughts are headed.
A learned gentleman once said to me that Catholic saints offer some specific qualities. For example, this learned gentleman felt that there was a saint whose specialty was promoting peaceful deaths. Most of us who have reached the declining years feel that there should be much interest in peaceful deaths. Whether this saint will provide such peace is an open question. However, this unnamed saint, whom I suspect is Saint Joseph, has been in the business of providing peaceful deaths for several hundred years. The person who recommended this saint is aware of my age and disabilities. As a matter of fact, he is my long-term cardiologist.
I have no trouble in accepting the advice of my cardiologist on saintly matters. There are others who would express certain doubts. For example, my cardiologist is a convert to Catholicism and treats saints fairly matter-of-factly. I do not know whether he worships these saints. He merely referred to them as part of his extraterritorial advice. But in this case, of course, I suspect that because of my age, he thought it would be appropriate to make me aware of someone like Saint Joseph because he thought it would come in handy in the likely event that I would turn up my toes.
But it strikes me that providing a peaceful death is only less than half of the job that needs to be done. The final hours are presumably the occasion when Saint Joseph or some other saint would interpose to grant relief to the afflicted person. This is all well and good. But I ask Saint Joseph or some other saint, “Where were you when I was going through the agony of operations and pills and extensive treatments and worry long before the final hour came?” I mean no disrespect to those of saintly qualities but I would like to get my question answered of where you were during the agony that led to the final hour.
It seems to me that there is much to recommend in taking the advice of a Moslem cleric who said that from the day we are born, we have begun to die. I am not a Moslem and have no intention of becoming one. On the other hand, it seems to me that the wisdom of the Moslem advice has much to recommend it. For example, I am now in my 90th year. It feels fairly good or, as we put it, not ungood. But the signs are everywhere.
While I was dictating this essay, the need rose to use the bathroom facilities. I am fully cognizant of the fact that I am blind, but that is only part of the story. The rest of the story is that I thought nothing in former days of getting to the bathroom and wondered why anyone would ask me about it. In these days, however, getting to the bathroom is a bit of an accomplishment in that there are steps to walk and turns to be made and, above all, there must be adequate time permitted for the bathroom visit to forego accidents. It simply takes me longer to get from here to there than it used to.
There is one other measurement which is largely finite. In our basement gymnasium, exercises by Miss Chicka and myself take place on at least four days every week. The measure of those results of our exercise date back to a year in the 1980s. The exercise that is performed by myself today is a far cry from what it used to amount to. As time has gone on, the deficits in the exercise routine have become a bit larger. I am not ready to call for Saint Joseph or his ministerial operation but I know which way the signs are headed.
Finally, somewhere in the 1980s, Miss Chicka and I purchased bicycles. That was a wonderful time in our lives because we rode all over northern New Jersey, hoping to achieve in one week 100 miles. We did not always achieve 100 miles but we came fairly close. But there was a sense of adventure about riding on unknown roads in the hope that we would eventually come to some location that we had some familiarity with. At this juncture in life, my transportation is not a regular bicycle, but a stationery bicycle. One of my other problems is aphasia resulting from a stroke and I very nearly called the stationery bicycle a “sanitary bicycle.”
Well, now look; I probably have taken much more of your time in reading about my lack of oomph in the exercise department. But I did it for a specific reason, which is to illustrate that once the twenties are gone, we seem to live our lives in decreasing planes of accomplishment. I am fully aware that I am not the man that I used to be even at age 75. But as soon as a level of accomplishment is achieved, before long it is outdated. All of which tells me that the deterioration problem will continue to take place and in the final showdown, I suspect that I will have to seek the comfort provided by Saint Joseph, who will provide me theoretically with a peaceful death.
But my point here is that providing a peaceful death is only half the story. The rest of the story has to do with providing peace and comfort to those of us who are aging and who are aware of that aging. In any case I appreciate your spending your time with me to discuss the slow decline in all of our performances. It may also be that the Moslem cleric had something when he said that from the minute we are born, we have begun to die. But as I look forward to the close of this essay I can still remember that I have still got my cardiologist who has told me about the wonders provided by one of the saints for a peaceful death. If you wish to be introduced to my cardiologist, I will be happy to do so. In the meantime, stay strong, take no wooden nickels, and look forward to the day when Saint Joseph will provide his ministerial blessings upon yourselves.
E. E. CARR
October 8, 2011
Essay 583
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Kevin’s commentary: mention of Pop’s cardiologist reminds me of the first essay on this site.
In other news I had no idea that my grandpa biked a hundred miles a week at anytime near the present. That’s quite an accomplishment. I would say right now I only bike about fifteen to twenty a week because that’s about how much you get when you multiply the distance between my home and my office by ten, then factor in some weekend excursions. So the truth is that I was being outbiked by a rather old man. I suppose this means that I should exercise more.