assistedlivingconcerns

The use of euphemisms is most convenient when this subject is addressed. One might refer to a death as a passing. It is more direct to say so and so died. Some say. “Joe crossed the River Jordan last night.” Or that he met his maker. The word demise, expiration, cessation or termination is seldom used with reference to death even though those words are quite factual. At funeral parlors they refer to the customer as the departed or the deceased one. At the Oscars they use the phrase: “In Memoriam,” when recording the members that had passed since the last Oscars. Some used the term, “He (or she) is no longer with us.” One lady told me when I inquired about a friend that, “ He has exited this world.” In plays, novels and movies they use the expression, “Angel of Death,” or “Grim Reaper.” My mother used to say, “He has gone to Heaven.” Of course many poems have use the subject as its theme, such as: Homer’s “Thanatos,” the Greek God of death, with a heart of iron and as pitiless as bronze. When people hear of the death of someone, inevitably they want to know of what cause, how it happened, how old, when, and the circumstances regarding the family. In Greek mythology, human fate is decided by three sisters: Clotho, Lachesis and Atropos. Lachesis sings of things that were, Clotho about things that are and Atropus about things that will be. They rule over birth, while Lachesis, the spinner, determines the length of the thread of life and it’s Atropus who cuts the thread, ending life with her dreaded shears. The three sisters determine our fate, that inescapable destiny, that all humans and the Gods meet. Perhaps this accounts for the expression, “cut short,” referring to the death of someone young. We all face the unavoidable departure from this world, while many believe that the spirit lives on for an eternity, some don’t. Some have an obsession about the subject, checking the obituaries daily, usually a housewife, greeting family members returning from work or play with the news, “Guess who died?” I live in an Old Folk’s Home where the passing of residents is an ongoing reality. The incident is announced by posting a photo of the departed in an alcove near the elevators. I’ve yet to see a tear shed among the residents at the news. Expressions of remorse by those close to the deceased are the standard acknowledgement. Mankind has a way of ignoring the fate we all await, trying to enjoy each day, one at a time. Eleanor Roosevelt said: “Yesterday is history. Today is here, and tomorrow is mystery.”

The French playwright, Moliere, wrote a comic play exposing the way doctors take advantage of hypochondriacs. The main character, who is very rich, believes he is a sick man and wallows in his self-imposed plight. His doctor prescribes medicine for the many health problems that he doesn’t have, much to the delight of the local apothecary. The patient wants his daughter to marry his doctor’s son who is soon to become a doctor, thinking the marriage would result in free care for him. The intended fiancé is dull-witted, and besides, the daughter wants to marry someone else. The plot is wonderfully complicated and in the end the patient is made to realize that his second wife is a conniving “gold digger,” sends her off and reconciles with his daughter, allows her to marry the one she loves, and finally admits he is truly a healthy person.
Quackery has been a plague on the human species since man first began to sneeze. Doctors take credit for their work, but the real reason people are living longer is the introduction of modern plumbing, clean water and the simple practice of washing one’s hands. Billions of dollars are spent annually on research to the point the research organization takes on an identity of it’s own. In the decades that research has been conducted, on diabetes for example, as each year passes, the number of diabetics has increased by the millions. During The Great Depression, when people couldn’t afford to buy food and the food they ate was natural, diabetes was rare. Now that we gorge ourselves on food, which is mostly manufactured, diabetes is ravaging the population. The fatter people get, the less they exercise and the more they eat. Recently, I saw a movie called FOOD, INC., which revealed how food is manufactured by Corporate America. Rather than spoil your appetite, take a look for yourself. For a healthy life, eat locally grown food, exercise and thank God for modern plumbing.

Imagine a world where everybody stops sticking their noses into everyone else’s dirty laundry, where nations and their organizations would keep accurate records, where nations would cease selling weapons to others in the name of Democracy and freedom, and where people would follow the eleventh commandment, “Mind Your Own Business.”
How hard would it be to stop considering people as types rather than a member of the human race? “He white, she black.” He Jew, she Christian.” He Italian, she Polish,” ad infinitum. Are we being honest when we use socially accepted sobriquets like Afro-American, Latino, Muslim, etc.? People have names, so why not use them? It’s hard to erase those labels that we grew up with, such as: Sneaky Polacks, Mafia wops, Jew-bastards, niggers, dirty spics, Sunday Christians, and an endless torrent of those used in every land about all those others. National pride, jingoism, flag waving, national anthems and the honor of dying for one’s country. It’s in our blood, inherited from traditions countless centuries old.
All of which is the basis of discrimination confounded by myths, religious beliefs, scores to be settled, defense of honor, political rhetoric, the Bible, the Koran, laws, traditions, our ego, what we call our core values, our traditions, history, rumors, our frailties and the overwhelming presence of ignorance and stupidity. Einstein said it best, “The difference between Genius and stupidity is that genius has limits.”
A good start in the quest for a perfect world would be to universally outlaw discrimination against women. It all started with the story of Adam and Eve, which is used to this very day to keep women down, denying the world their contributions to make a better world. It all starts with you.

The other day while rooting through book reviews, I came across an author who writes light fiction about ghosts. The subject of ghosts seems to be of universal interest dating back as far as history permits us to believe in such matters. I once knew a lady of means who lost a dear child of a young age and tried to cope with the trauma by hiring people who claimed to have the power to contact the spirit of a particular deceased person. Some of us thought her attempts were foolhardy, but those close to her said that the séances brought solace to the grief stricken mother.
Residing in an old folks home as I do, the subject always sparks interest when raised at the dinner table, for example. Irene, normally one not to engage her fellow residents, piped up with the opinion that everyone believes in ghosts. The others at the table all nodded affirmatively at the response, but none cited a personal incident. When I was young, one of my aunts was forever dwelling on the subject of spirits and their powers. It had a lasting affect on me when in one story she declared that her neighbor heard three distinct knocks on the floor above her, which caused my aunt to predict that a death in the building was about to happen. Sure enough, she recalled, that Mrs. Mc Ginty, a resident, was found dead in her apartment a short time later. Using logic, it’s plausible that with any passing of a person, one can recall something that could be used as a foreboding sign connecting the two events.. But from a realistic point of view, the telling could stir lasting doubt in one’s mind in spite of the logical explanation of the claim.
In the review of the book I had discovered, “People I Wanted to Be,” by Gina Ochsner, the plot centers on an unhappy married couple who desperately wanted children but could not, and who believed that the ghosts of three children lived in the area and came to love them as their own. We all wish for happiness, which often comes to us in strange ways. Their belief that the ghosts were real brought them a taste of joy in an unhappy marriage. The lady of means found solace through her séances trying to reach the spirit of her departed child. I still remember my aunt’s account of those three knocks on the floor even though I never knew the people involved. “Yes,” said Irene, “everyone believes in ghosts,” and the others all agreed. I wonder what stories they held to their hearts? I have few of my own.