Longevity - a blessing yet a burden

 

When I die what will I leave behind? A tombstone in a mass graveyard. An urn shelved in a columbarium. A living memory for those who may forget who I was?

Those thoughts come to mind when loved ones and friends die - some short of the average life expectancy of 76 (male) and 78 (female).

My mother-in-law broke the statistical trend. She died at 90. Sad but, perhaps, not a tragedy given her age.

The paradox of her longevity hit me when I visited her last month in a geriatric ward and an aged care home in Petaling Jaya.

Her longevity was a blessing. She was cognitively sound, relatively independent, travelled widely, and her relish for good food was relentless. She lived well.

But over the years, she felt the shakes of Parkinson’s and the creeping burden on herself and the family when she was convinced - or rather resigned - to move to a nursing home for round-the-clock care.

Here lies a dilemma for baby boomers, now in their late 60s or 70s, living with dependent elderly parents - to abide by the virtues of filial piety or yield to the practicalities of aged care services.

Malaysians are today living longer, though not necessarily healthier. And, with a nuclear family becoming a preferred living arrangement, the demand for dedicated aged care facilities will continue to grow.

Burdensome costs

In my recent trip home, I saw numerous new aged care homes converted from bungalows around Petaling Jaya.

A quick Google search shows the spread of aged care providers in the Klang Valley with monthly fees between RM3,500 and RM5,500, to at least RM8,000 for upscale retirement homes.

Visiting an aged care home where “very old people” live in their own silent world with impending death hovering around them - I wonder if I will ever be ready when my mind and body can no longer do what I want them to.

Where do I go? How will I die? Cremation or burial? Can I even afford a dignified send-off? Enter the pre-planners hard-selling their funeral package at shopping malls and morning markets. Death is anything but a living business.

Private cemetery-cum-pseudo theme parks in Setia Alam, Shah Alam, and Seminyih have pre-purchased burial plots selling in the high RM40,000. These plots can be resold at higher prices if clients change their minds before they die.

Add in an average of RM20,000 for a low-end casket and the necessary funeral services, dying can be very costly for those you leave behind.

Slow fade

Over time, I have watched the phases of dying. My mother-in-law’s slow fade took me back to 2016 when my mother passed away at our family home in Penang after years of languishing in aged care.

All of us six siblings returned from Australia. We took turns to wipe her crusty eyes, moistened her dry lips, held her hand, and talked to her. Unresponsive conversations with my mother felt normal over the long week.

The distressing thought of helping my mother die was strong. It appealed to our felt need to alleviate her pain, to hasten the inevitable, and, perhaps selfishly, to end our emotional strain.

I understood the case for medically assisted dying. It was compelling. But to hasten my mother’s death would be to intentionally end her life when she had given me mine and raised me only to migrate for a better life.

As I watched my mother breathe and heave (medically known as Cheyne-Stokes respiration), as I read about the “death rattle” and of letting go, the watchful waiting for her to die somehow became easier.

Forward to the weeks in May 2024, I watched a once spritely 90-year-old body straining from the clutches of death.

Letting go of our loved ones is not easy - be it letting go of our children to live their own lives or convincing our conscience to move our feeble parents to an old people’s home for attentive care.

My body too will naturally weaken. I will become old and constantly be in the way of the young. My brain will deteriorate - I hope not for another 20 years or more.

I suppose I fear less the gruesome prospect of death. It is the eventual shift to a nursing home and decrepitude that gets me, leaving little behind except a tombstone, an urn, or perhaps some stories that my children can retell and embellish.

The paradox of longevity will repeat itself. Count my blessings for a life well lived? Or carry the burden of being a pain, an encumbrance, to my children who will then have their own family to look after?

Looks like my choices will be limited to one: a nursing home.

Meanwhile, barring cancer or heart attack, dementia, or Parkinson’s, living well till my 90’s is taking a very long shot but not wholly unreasonable - even if the ancient Psalmist says our life span is mere “three score and ten” or “four score years”. - Mkini

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ERIC LOO is a former journalist and educator in Australia and a journalism trainer in parts of Asia.

The views expressed here are those of the author/contributor and do not necessarily represent the views of MMKtT.