June 3, 2008

My father’s determination to die (or to have his own way in something, one might say) progressed so that my sister called Hospice to facilitate it. Now, Hospice is more amply funded by the government, and father will be spending a lot less, and yet he still refused everything the hospice people offered, assuming there were out to get his money. They are getting what they want nevertheless, for father gave my sister the power to make decisions for him, and she is. The hospice lady–who must have seen a great deal in her time–left her interview with dad saying, "that is one mean son-of-a-bitch." She also assumes he cannot die until he gets over his meanness, in which case we have a long wait.

All his present bitterness and misery arise from the issue of money. Throughout my life I assumed he was money-loving, and I assumed that to be sinful, but he, after a while, HAD money, and so prudence rather than miserliness was at least a possible interpretation. There’s nothing prudent in his present actions. He accuses us of stealing from him. He has been shown the money from the sale of the house in his account, but he still assumes that is a mirage and that the realtor has it. He accuses those who seek to make him more comfortable of merely wanting to sell him something. He claims to be afraid mainly of pain, and yet he will not visit the doctor to get the pain medicine because he feels the doctor is "only out to get my money." He doesn’t have that much that everybody’s eye should be on it. I do not think he is suffering dementia. I hope he is, but I think not. I think this is the dramatic–almost Ovidean– final transformation of a soul who always wanted money more than anything or anyone, and who assumed he himself had worth only insofar as he had it. It is pitiable state, but it is also, in the end, fully voluntary. Love or comfort is rejects because he fears it might cost him something. He is a figure out of a morality play. He is Avarice. I did not expect this. I did not expect it to be so horrible. I had a scenario in mind where a kindly old man would fade away in the presence of his grandsons. I did not imagine a serpent coiled around its cold treasure, hissing and spitting until the last moment.

If I had fears that I would end up like my father, they are gone.