Die young and leave a beautiful corpse? Or hang in til you reach a ripe, old age so people can say, "He had a good life."? Clock out suddenly with no notice? Or wither away slowly over weeks, months or even years? There are pros and cons to each scenario. But one thing's for certain: we may not know when, where, or how, but we're all going to die.

Both of my parents are now dead. Mom (God bless her) died on my one year wedding anniversary in 2005. A lifelong smoker, she had COPD. That is what finally did her in. She was 2 months shy of her 81st birthday and said she was shocked to make it to 80.

Mom suffered with her lungs and related issues (swollen ankles) for years. But she wasn't "dying" per se.  In the end, it was a mere 18 days from hospitalization to check out.

The way we knew it was serious was Dad carried a portfolio of important papers -- including her Do Not Rescusitate (DNR) with him at all times. He told us he and Mom had been having some serious discussions.

He was prepared. She was prepared. At the exact moment of her death my Dad was in church praying for God to take her.

My Dad outlived Mom by 3.5 years. He was hale and hearty up until September. Then he went downhill fast.

Prior to his final hospital stay he'd had quite a few others. As a result, he'd become quite a favorite of the hospital chaplain, a lovely red-headed woman named Suzanne (who, we speculated, might be an ex-nun). Suzanne seemed to always time her visits when I was there. I don't think either my brother or sister ever met her. But I had the pleasure of many prayer sessions with her.

I also had the opportunity to discuss death in a philosphical way with my dad. He had a strong faith and was not afraid to die. Why should he be? His life partner was waiting for him, as were his loving parents.

 Weeks before he died, Dad spent a lot of time at his desk. He made sure all his affairs were in order. He did all the things they say happen to people preparing for the transition from body to spirit.

He stopped eating. He spent more and more time thinking/living in the past. He rejected medical help. We felt him pulling away from us little by little.

For me, because I knew his wishes, this was less painful than it was for my siblings. Of course I didn't want him to leave us. But I also knew the reason he was hanging around was not for himself. It was selfish to want to keep him around when his body was failing organ by organ.

In the end, Dad's final countdown was blessedly short as well. Back into the hospital on a Sunday. Moved to a rehab hospital* on Thursday. Taken to the ER the following Saturday, where he died early Sunday morning, surrounded by his family.

*A quick note about rehab hospitals. I am convinced there is only one way out of these facililties. And it's not standing up.

 It's been a mere two months since we buried my father. Now we're on a death watch for my father-in-law. He is under the care of the big "H." He's receiving what they call "palliative care" and is officially "in hospice."

According to the physician's order that hangs on his kitchen whiteboard he has "end-stage lymphoma." No one has given us an exact timeframe, but it was his doctor's idea to get hospice involved. Typically that means the patient is expected to live less than 6 months.

In my father-in-law's case the family has vowed to not allow him to go into the hospital. No matter what. His last hospitalization (surgery on the lymphoma -- before two rounds of chemo and radiation) was a disaster. He tore at his IVs and yelled for his shoes, over and over and over and over and over.

You see, my father-in-law also suffers from Alzheimers. This is sort of a double whammy medically, but in a way, also a blessing. He does not seem to understand what is happening, either within his body or around him. He relates his pain and symptoms at the level of a three year old.

Each day he withdraws a little more from life. He's spending more time in bed. He cannot eat solid food because the lymphoma has closed up his esophagus. He's lost at least 25 lbs.

And we, his family, sit by helplessly. Intellectually, we know and accept that he won't be getting better. We're well aware of the subtle changes and what they mean.

The hospice nurses come once a day and do a quick checkup. About the only comfort they offer is to up his dose of morphine if he's having breakthrough pain. He's on enough now to kill a horse.  

Living with terminal illness is like living under a boulder. There's a steady, crushing ache that only death can abate. At the same time, we are painfully aware that we should be feeling grateful for each day we still have him here with us.

We don't want to rush things by getting ahead of ourselves. We have one foot in life, but one foot already in the funeral, if not the grave.

I know what we're going through is NOTHING in comparison with the suffering my father-in-law is enduring.

But it does explain why I hate hospice.