Sometimes, death is torture

I was having a conversation about death yesterday.  My step grandfather in law is back in hospital with a chest infection.  He's 89 now and has been going down hill for the past year or so.  He is pretty much alone in this world, only has a couple of people in his life who bother to care or visit.  And the process of him dying alone predominantly seems like torture.

His wife has alzheimers and is in a nursing home far away from him, she is 96 this year.  He doesn't want to go into a home, and wants to stay at his unit, but refuses all offers of help coming into his unit. S o he's on his own most of the time.  I wonder if him having a pace maker put in a few years ago was a big mistake.  His heart is almost ready to give up, he's always out of breath, no energy, no will to live.  It's so sad, and must be torture for him sitting at home by himself with few visitors, thinking about the inevitable.  He gets to a point of accepting that it's nearly his time for death.  But then when anything happens, he calls the ambulance, goes to hospital, perks back up, for then, it all to happen again a few months later.

He is worn out, tired, and no longer wants to really be here.  If he wasn't alone, he may feel differently, but the way he has lived his life has dictated why he is now alone.  I think he was always a fairly self centred person.  He is nice enough, but he is an academic, he was busy writing books, and changing the world.  He wasn't interested in the non-academic and just humoured us, kept up appearances come christmas, birthdays, weddings, funerals and christenings, but little more.  So he is alone.  He wasn't interested in making friends with neighbours much, he wanted to rub shoulders with academia.  So, as smart as he is/was, he's virtually all alone.  He is also half deaf, which in itself is isolating.

He has had such a tortured life when I come to think of it.  He was an academic, then became a catholic priest, struggled with that, eventually gave up on religion for the most part which must have been painful and difficult for him.  He never had kids, because the best part of his life was given to the priesthood.  Alone, alone, alone.

I hope, when my time comes, I'm not alone.  That would be the worst thing for me, to be left alone for my final years, and then have those years drag on and on.  Teasing me with death and recovery over and over again.