My mom died peacefully. My dad died 72 days later, angry at the doctors for ignoring his wishes. The high school sweethearts were always very clear about their end-of-life expectations: Quick and painless.
No one ever imagined a fight. My parents met when they were teenagers in English class. He was the captain of the football team, and she was the beautiful nerd that he dated after he had dated everyone else (and she never let him forget it.
) They married and settled in the Twin Cities, Minnesota, to raise three kids. When she was 31, my mom, a hard-charging stockbroker, became disabled by severe back pain. Meanwhile, my dad, a clinical psychologist, had several joints replaced because of severe arthritis.
We called him "The Terminator" because he was, as he put it, "darn hard to kill." These ailments left both of them disabled but not dispirited. As my parents aged and their health challenges became more significant, they never stopped loving and caring for each other.
Because they were disabled for most of my life, there was nothing unspoken between all of us. We knew that they did not want to suffer at the end of their lives. They wanted comfort.
My mom tested positive for COVID-19 on September 29, 2023. Two days later, she was admitted to the hospital. As she improved, I talked with her daily, and our marathon phone conversations covered everything from global wars to dinner plans.
Ten days after she was admitted, I missed a FaceTime call from my dad. He FaceTimed me aga.