Yesterday’s edition of the LA Times featured an op-ed by contributor and author Diana Wagman, titled “Time for Dad to die.”
The op-ed by Wagman is even worse than the title would lead one to believe.
The opening sentence of her piece gives us fair warning:
I love my 90-year-old father, and I wish he would die.
Wagman goes on to relate her father’s loss of some cognitive and physical abilities due to a series of strokes. Over time, he lost the ability to drive, walk his dog, do crossword puzzles or engage in the kind of spontaneous word play he valued. She also relates he was able to find some joy in things he could still do.
In October, her father had a massive stroke. He is currently in a hospital receiving acute care. By her own admission, her father isn’t in a vegetative state, but is asleep most of the time. He wakes briefly maybe a couple times a day and says two words to people (appropriate to the person and occasion).
The family is conflicted about what her father would want. He has an advance directive that says he wants no extraordinary measures. He relies on a feeding tube, which at least some in the family don’t regard as “extraordinary measures.”
And, of course, her father’s wife is facing new concerns as they face placement in a skilled nursing facility and the economic burdens that will place on her.
All of the above – except for that first sentence – is very familiar territory in the stories of families dealing with a severe health crisis and conflicting beliefs and emotions regarding what really is in a loved one’s best interests.
Wagman leaves the familiar territory – and invites readers to join her – with her closing statements in the essay:
The day before I returned to Los Angeles, I was alone with Dad. He never opened his eyes or even moved the entire day. I talked to him, read to him, held his good hand and stroked his great bald head. No response. The sun went down and the room took on that eerie hospital glow. I leaned over and whispered to my father that it was OK to stop fighting. I told him we all loved him and we would never forget him. I said it was time to die. It was not easy, and I cried.
The next morning on my way to the airport, I stopped by the hospital. The nurse said that earlier Dad had opened his eyes, looked right at her and said, “Good morning.” He was asleep again as I kissed him goodbye. I don’t want to be the one to remove the feeding tube, but I am not sorry I said what I did. It is time for him to go.
I know people who’ve worked with families in similar situations. According to some of them, it’s not uncommon for family members – feeling anger, hopelessness and frustration – to feel angry at the seriously ill person for not dying soon enough. Most people who feel these things have enough insight and self-awareness to seek out someone to talk to.
No one ever admits to actually saying it to a loved one.
While the feelings described in this essay may be pretty common, I’m led to believe that the actions and words described by Ms. Wagman are rare.
One wonders what kind of mindset leads to telling your father it’s “time to die” and then leave the city. Was she hoping he heard her? She certainly wants all of us to know she’s not sorry for telling him it’s time to die.
One also has to ask what the LA Times Op-ed editor was thinking in accepting this piece – glorifying what can most charitably called “dysfunctional behavior.”
One has to ask if it’s any coincidence that her father never roused himself out of his sleep for her final two visits, but was able to wake up and greet his nurse.
If Ms. Wagman was at my bedside, I’d pretend to sleep for as long as possible too. –Stephen Drake
