Yesterday, my family went to see my maternal grandfather in the nursing home. He is 93, hugely diabetic, and struggling through his last days. My brother and I were there to pay our last respects, if you will. While I would say that 93 years is a sufficiently long life, the pain that comes with end of life is still a difficult watch. Grandfather could opt out of dialysis and go in a matter of days, but he continues to cling to life. Who can blame him?
The whole time I was there, I kept thinking of Bronnie Ware’s book: The Top Five Regrets of the Dying. I wonder what regrets my grandfather has, if any? Sadly, not a question I can ask, because at this point he doesn’t even recognize who I am. For those wondering, here are the top five regrets, courtesy of Wikipedia:
"I wish I'd had the courage to live a life true to myself, not the life others expected of me."
"I wish I hadn't worked so hard."
"I wish I'd had the courage to express my feelings."
"I wish I had stayed in touch with my friends."
"I wish that I had let myself be happier."
I know one regret I would have: making dumb health choices when I’m young, only for me to suffer later in life. What’s the point of living into the 90s when you’re bed and house-ridden for the final decade plus? I don’t see that as a very good life. This is why I hugely about the three pillars of getting enough sleep, eating correctly, and consistent exercise. Now, when I’m still in my 30s. I want to live a long time, yes, but I want that long time to also be as functional as possible. God willing, of course.
This is why I push my retired parents to be as active as possible, and get enough protein. Let my grandfather be an example of how not to end up during our respective end of days. It’s a tremendous burden on yourself and your loved ones.
Burrito for breaking fast.