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Recently I have been thinking about death. This has been triggered by a number of things. Prince, an artist I liked, died suddenly. Merle Haggard, old country outlaw that he was, died on his birthday. Alan Rickman, a very fine actor, also died suddenly. However what troubled me the most was the sudden death of an ex patient. She was just 40 y/o and died of a pulmonary embolism. She had been on a disability for years that really affected her life, but she was trying to be happy. She had a loving family who really enjoyed her. Sudden death is always totally unexpected. .

I think we all believe we will live forever. Death seems like it happens to other people, but not to someone like me. In my culture death was always present. I still tell people that before I was 12, I had probably been to more wakes than anyone I knew. The Irish Catholics have rituals about death. There is the wake full of friends, relatives, and comforting words. In the old days, wakes were at least three days. I still have vague memories of my grandfather’s wake. My cousin and I were only five years old, and we were allowed to run around the funeral home for all three days. Wakes were gradually reduced. My own father and mother’s were two days. It is now only one day. The day of the funeral starts from the funeral home with a procession to the Church. There is the funeral mass and then the long procession to the cemetery. Now there are internment chapels. In the old days we would stand around an open grave as the priest said the final prayers. Now we all enter these beautiful buildings and say our final good byes. After that there is the funeral lunch. The lunch is now usually held in restaurants and includes family style food and drinks. After the lunch a select few are invited back to the family home for continued talk, drink, and more food.

This is the way my family has dealt with death in my lifetime. I know no matter what I do, this will happen to me. Recently I received a brochure from the Cremation Society of America. They were looking for business. They even offered a free cremation with a tasteful container if you joined as a family. Funeral homes now aggressively advertise and recommend pre-planning your funeral. I once jokingly told my wife that I wanted a funeral like in the movie “The Big Chill” with speakers blaring “You Can’t Always Get What You Want”. I don’t think she is in favor of that. I said that quite a few years ago but now death is certainly more present.

I think what bothers me now is the reality of how fragile life really is. This is not a forever thing. It can end at any time.   I still remember my mother never getting over my father’s death. I still see my grandmother praying two rosaries every day for my grandfather.

I have had quite a few patients threaten suicide and an unfortunate few who succeeded. I always tried to get the ones who were thinking about it to contract with me not to. I saw the family members of suicides totally crushed. They always thought if they could have just done one more thing, said one more thing, their loved one wouldn’t have died. I wanted my patients to hear about this . I always told them that their lives didn’t just belong to them , but also to those who loved them. The effects of a suicide can last generations. I remember treating a man in his sixties still trying to understand his own grandfather’s suicide. I had patients try suicide because a relative had and suicide became an answer to a difficult situation.

I know that for some people life seems unbearable, but death is forever and cant be taken back. As hard as it is think of those who love you. They wont get over it. Don’t kid yourself.

Now as I am in my seventh decade, my own denial system is still at work. Some days I still think the future is endless. Then there are those days when reality hits. Thankfully my health is still pretty good. I have a supportive wife and family. I still enjoy life and look forward to tomorrow. I keep reminding myself about the importance of focusing on the now. The sudden death of friends and people I know ,or am familiar with,  keeps interrupting that.

I know I still have a lot of work to do on this for myself. Maybe the answer is to  keep trying to live well so that no matter what I can have some positive memories no matter what or when.

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Last year around this time I met this rather strange old man at the gym. He began talking to me while we were both in the hot tub after I had worked out. He said “Do you like a good joke?” He then told me two or three double entendre jokes, which were really not funny. He then launched into his life story. He was 74 and married to a 50-year-old woman. His first wife of 40+ years had died and he had remarried. His current wife was an old customer of his. After the marriage he had moved in with her and her adult children and was still supporting them. He was somewhat estranged from his own adopted son who had not been in favor of this marriage. I was polite and listened, but it really was almost like work.

I didn’t see him again until Wednesday when he again approached me in the hot tub with his line “Do you like a good joke?” He then told me the same ones he had told me a year ago. This time I didn’t stay around long enough for the rest of the story. An older woman entered the pool and he began talking to her about his 50 y/o wife. He seemed sad and probably lonely, but I really didn’t want to hear his stories.

Today while I was swimming he again approached me with “Do you like a good joke?” He then started to tell me the same jokes until I cut him off and began to swim. As I was swimming I noticed that he had cornered a young man and was going thru his routine. The kid looked really uncomfortable but really didn’t know what to do.

I continued my workout and went to shower and dress. As I was getting dressed, I heard the old man in another part of the locker room starting again. He had cornered two or three guys and was trying to tell them the same old jokes he had told two or three times already.

I was really irritated by this as I left the gym. Then I began to think who the hell do I think I am? This guy is only four years older than me and is probably very lonely. His home life sounds pretty desperate and he is trying to make some social contact. He keeps using a routine that probably worked for him at one point in time. There are guys who still think that to be one of the good old boys you have to start by telling a dirty joke. It might still work in a bar, but it doesn’t work really well in the kind of mixed gym we go to.

How do you make social contact with new people? One of my old patients and I would laugh over cheesy pickup lines:

“Hi, I’m a fashion photographer. Would you like to be in my next photo shoot?

Are you a 90 degree angle? Cause you are looking right!

Hey gorgeous! I’ve just finished studying the book of numbers. But I noticed I don’t have yours.”

(The one that I would probably use is: “ I’m single and desolate. Can you help me?”)

However this is really not a joke for older people. Many of our friends are dead or gone or focused on their own families. Sometimes I have noticed my own sons rolling their eyes when I tell them stuff because they really don’t want to hear it. Maybe they are starting to think of me like I was thinking of the guy at the gym. One of my friends said that he never wanted to be like his parents and just talk about his ailments. He now knows that he does it quite a bit. Older parts just don’t seem to work as well as they used to. We do repeat ourselves and our memories are often dysfunctional if not totally absent.

Bette Davis’ famous line : “Old Age ain’t for Sissies” still rings true. A couple of years ago my brother-in-law’s sister had asked for our help in moving some things into her apartment at a retirement center. I still remember carrying stuff down this long dark hallway that had many apartment doors. They were all closed and very quiet. It was almost like a mausoleum. She died a year later in a nursing home. It was a very good nursing home, but no matter how good, they all have patients strapped into wheel chairs and there is always a smell of urine. Old age can be a very lonely time. There is a very solid body of research that shows increased social contact can delay Dementia and Alzheimer’s in the elderly. There are senior clubs and “senior outings”, but I’m not ready for that yet. I don’t feel like a senior. I’m still too much into rock & roll, but maybe, just maybe, I should start thinking about this more

So I will try to not be such a judgmental jerk to the guy at the gym. I just don’t want to hear his jokes any more.

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Almost April! Almost Spring ! The weather has been warmer and I think it is now OK to say we have had a very mild winter. The seasons seem to change quicker now. When I was younger they all lasted longer. Winter was never going to end, Spring was beautiful and Summer was endless. Now they seem to pass as if they are all on fast forward. I think I still focus on the aging process too much.

I would like to be able to focus on the now. Sometimes when I am running or swimming I can slip into that. It used to be called the runner’s high, but to me it just seems like time stops having any real meaning. I once had a patient who was really into meditation. He would talk about that type of experience in his own life. He was upset that it didn’t happen every time he meditated. It still happens for me when I am running, but I don’t run as much as I used to.

I now say that about a lot of my life. I don’t do many things as much as I used to. Most of the time that is OK, but sometimes I get down on myself for not doing more when I know what the positive outcome would be. Lately I have been thinking about old stories. One was about a talking dog. Supposedly one friend was telling another about the wonder of this talking dog. The other friend asked, “What did he say?” The first said, “I don’t know. The wonder is that he could talk at all!” I need to keep focusing on what I can do and not what I cant or don’t. Too many of our friends never had the opportunity to retire because of health, financial, or family problems. I have been very lucky in all of those areas so far. I need to enjoy them while I can.

The other story is about the Indian chief who tried to explain life to his son. He told him, “We all have two wolves inside us. One is made up of anger and fear and envy. The other is made of peace and love and kindness. Your life will be made up of which wolf you choose”. The son asked, “How will I know which wolf to choose?” The chief said, “It depends on which one you feed”.

I know that is a very old story but it is relevant to me today. It seems so easy to focus on positives, things to be grateful for. Instead the negatives are much easier. One group we had was made up of codependent women. (one woman said all women are codependent—but that’s another story). In any case in this group we thought we would do a simple exercise to increase self worth. The other co-therapist (also a male) suggested all the women look into a small mirror and begin saying positive things about themselves. We couldn’t get any of the women to participate. They all said it was too hard. We realized that thinking positive is a skill that needs to be learned and then practiced.

I know when I’m down and someone says “Think positive, Be Grateful”, I want to tell them that they don’t understand. I guess it really is me who doesn’t understand that I need to practice being positive more so when I do have down days I can call up that skill.

I once had a patient who had been in recovery for a number of years. He was upset that he wasn’t in a relationship. He thought it was because he just wasn’t good enough. He was very active in his recovery and even volunteered at the NA office in Chicago. One day he had a breakthrough. He was answering their emergency phone and a call came in. He recognized the caller as a female friend who had gone thru treatment with him. She had relapsed and was quite upset. He offered her support and then began to gently ask her what had happened. He told me that he asked her if she was following thru with all the treatment recommendations that they both had received. These included regular attendance at 12 Step meetings, establishing contact with a 12 Step sponsor and getting involved in recovery activities. She had dropped all of that. What he told me was that he realized that he had followed thru with all the recommendations and had stayed clean. He talked about how grateful he was for that. He then talked about how had begun making a grateful list every morning. No matter how bad the day got he could always pull out the list and at least find one thing to be grateful for. I was always impressed with such a simple idea and have recommended it to many people over the years. Now I need to practice it for myself so I have something positive to feed my wolf.

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Time changes this week. It already seems dark when I wake up, so after the time change it will feel like the middle of the night. I still wonder how much sleep is enough. When I was a teen-ager, we would almost have contests to see who could sleep the longest. Now it’s hard to stay asleep. This is more of the wonder of growing accustomed to being a senior citizen.

Freud’s thing “zu arbeiten und zu lieben“ (to work and to love) still sticks in my mind. I usually like being retired. I like not having to wear a pager and literally being on call 24 hours a day. I don’t think I realized how burned out I was until I left. The clinic I worked in was a very good place. Everyone I worked with was supportive and I did enjoy the work. It was only after I had left that I realized how much time had gone by. I was there almost 20 years. It didn’t seem that long, but it was.. Other providers say the same thing in that they dont realize how much time has past. I think it is seeing and treating so many patients. You can get sucked into their lives and as soon as one patient leaves another appears. I think it made me lose focus on my own priorities. Now everyday is like an endless weekend. Some days that is OK and some days not. I think about boredom and what it means. I know that as long as I can find something interesting to do I wont be bored, but March is a slow month. The weather is unpredictable. The last few days have been almost Spring like, but our guard is still up. Snow and frigid temperatures could be right around the corner. Today is overcast and rain and storms seem to be just waiting to erupt.

This election cycle may also play a big part in my mood. It seems to have invaded every part of life. I can’t believe what is going on. One of the candidates is drawing comparisons to Hitler. Another reminds me of Jerry Brown (the 60s version, not the same guy who is now the governor of California). I hear pundits from both sides praising their candidates and I just want to move to Canada or Ireland. When I was in my 20s the peace love thing was big. “Don’t trust anyone over 30,etc,etc”. We were going to change the world and have this great society based on love and acceptance. Well, that really worked out. I am concerned that so many young people want to try this again, but maybe they have to. The thought that our country could end up as a fascist state is unbelievable. Maybe I watch the news too much. I try not to, but I’m almost like a junky hooked on heroin. I have to watch or check CNN online. The news media keeps everything going and continues to suck me in. I may need detox from all of this.

I now know it was William Buckley who said “Industry Is The Enemy of Melancholy”. I know if I find something to do that interests me it would help, but discovering that something is beyond me right now. There are endless projects and busy work. I could alphabetize my books by author and genre. However that is something one of my sons would do. I could go work out to the point of exhaustion, but that is something my other son would do. I now have a fitness tracker so I can check how many steps I take each day. Who knew a small piece of technology could make you feel guilty? I am supposed to walk at least 10,000 steps a day (about 5 miles). If I do the fitbit makes a happy little buzzy sound. If I don’t, I get all of these emails and texts about how close I am. Is it wrong to fantasize about going to my tool chest for a hammer? As with everything it depends on the day.

I could blame this on retirement and lack of structure, but that is probably not correct. One year my mother-in-law gave me a kit to make a pair of leather moccasins. I had to stitch these different pieces of material together with leather thongs. I guess she thought it would be good for me and maybe I wouldn’t bother her daughter as much. I have always hated crafts and remember asking my wife later why the hell she gave me that. I put the box away and didn’t touch it for years. Then one day, probably in March, during a particularly busy time at work I found it hidden away in my closet. I started and couldn’t stop until I had made these kind of cheesy slippers. Why did that get me out of my funk back then? It was just the right thing at the right time and I was willing to try something new. Maybe that is the clue, being open to something that you never thought you would or could do. I think I’ll look thru my closet again. Who knows what is in there.

I still think I am waiting for another pair of slippers.

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I hate idiot lights in cars. Whenever one goes on there is always a momentary panic, “O My God What Should I Do ?” So I guess I will have to change the oil “soon”, whatever “soon” means. Life is full of these external warnings from weather alerts to lab tests that all seem to have dire consequences if they are not obeyed. This all started me thinking about God.

I was raised in a very traditional Catholic family. We started on the south side of Chicago, moved to the near north side and ended up in the suburbs. My family would go to Church weekly and we all attended Catholic Schools. Up until 5^th grade the school I attended had a traveling statue of the Madonna. It was a very big deal when it came to your house. The whole neighborhood would gather in your living room to say the rosary and if you were really lucky the pastor might come by to lead it. At that time we were all taught by nuns. I still remember how frightening they could be—even the really nice ones. These women taught generations of children and were never really rewarded as much as the priests were. Many of the older nuns now are in state run nursing homes and are on public aid.

The foundation of my spirituality came from them and from the priests who would come in weekly to go over “The Baltimore Catechism”. This was a book we literally had to memorize. I still remember the first question : “Who made you ? God Made Us to Love and Serve Him in This World and the Next”. I think as years went on the spirituality that developed was somewhat primitive and magical. If you wanted something you prayed for it and if you were good you might get it. This lasted into my late teens and early twenties.

In my mid twenties I had a change of heart. Church just wasn’t important to me anymore. I thought many of their teachings were wrong and just couldn’t get into it any more. After our oldest son was born I would occasionally feel some guilt and try to attend Mass on a regular basis again, but that never lasted. At my wife’s urging I took my oldest son to mass when he was four. I still remember him asking “Who is that guy in the green superman costume?” about the priest. We tried to have him attend Catholic school but that only lasted thru kindergarten. They thought he was learning disabled and weren’t able to provide services. Sometimes I think he should contact them now to compliment them on their excellent diagnostic skills as he is completing his second Masters Degree. This only served to increase my anger at the whole Church.

I think the final straw for me came when I tried one more time. The pastor of the Church in town was an alcoholic and his behavior was getting more and more out of control. He was finally removed and the bishop came to our Church to explain Alcoholism at every mass. I tried to talk to him afterward to recommend a good treatment center , “Guest House” in St.Louis, that specialized in working with alcoholic priests. He really didn’t want to hear that and that was the end of Church for me for about 10-12 years. I would get very angry thinking about all the abuses, and cruelty I could discover about the Church . If someone brought up any type of organized religion I would always have something negative to say.

One day at lunch we started talking again about the Church and all the riches it supposedly had. I began to go off again. One of the other hospital counselors began to talk to me. His name was Jack and someday I will write more about this man who taught me more about therapy and addiction than all the graduate courses I ever had. He said, “Jim It’s lunch time now. Do you think the Pope is sitting there over his ham sandwich bitching about Jim LeFager ?” He stopped me cold and made me begin to think again. A few years later we began to go to mass again.

The pastor of the Church then was a very dramatic soul who was good at raising money. When he left, the new pastor that came in was a very laid back nice guy. As time went on I again got involved in the Church as a lector and Eucharistic minister. My spirituality had changed in that it wasn’t so much magic I was looking for as much as it was searching for serenity and peace. I would still have trouble with sermons and would usually begin to fall asleep (until my wife elbowed and pinched me). I think that was because I spent all day listening to people and just couldn’t tune in to someone talking to a large group. As time went on the pastors changed again and this time we changed parishes. I’m still looking for serenity and peace and the structure of the Church seems to help me with that. I still cant buy into everything, but I take what I can and for right now that is good enough.