Nash: Grave circumstances — Losing loved ones a fact of life as baby boomers get older

IT MAY SEEM counterintuitive to write about death in a column called Living Longer.

But it surely comes with the territory.

This week a friend died of a heart attack, all of a sudden. Jack was 77 years old, a doctor, extraordinarily accomplished, exceptionally fit. And humble, with a great sense of humor.

When I still lived in the Bay Area, Jack and his wife moved into my apartment building. A few days later, someone stole Jack’s fancy bike from the communal garage.

I helpfully opined that the way not to have your bike stolen is to have a shitty bike.

Jack chuckled, then said he’d be getting a nice new bike, thank you very much, and keeping it inside the apartment. The day before he died, Jack took a 30-mile bike ride.

His family and friends are heartbroken.

As we get older, who among us will not have to deal with the loss of someone we love?

I did not understand what loss really meant for a very long time. Many years ago, my aunt said to her daughter and me, after my uncle — her husband of over 50 years — had passed away, “All of my friends are dead.”

I was 54 years old and, although I adored my uncle and mourned his passing, I was pretty clueless about what my aunt meant. Almost all of the people I knew were still alive.

“But you still have us,” I said to my aunt, pointing to my cousin and me. “We’re still here.”

Since then, both of my parents have died. That at least was in the natural order of things. But then my younger sister passed away after a valiant and bruising four-year battle with lymphoma.

I was in Seattle with my sister and her family when she died. A few days later, I returned to that Bay Area apartment, put down my suitcase, lay down face-first on the hardwood floor, and sobbed.

It was as if the air just weighed too much for me to keep standing up.

Death becomes us

My friends are mostly baby boomers. All of us are going to lose people, however much we might celebrate the fact that statistically our lifespans are 30 years longer than they were 100+ years ago. The Census Bureau reports that the number of deaths in the United States will increase every year until peaking in 2055 and gradually leveling off.

At my recent 50-year high school reunion, the “Farewell” board had yearbook photos of nearly 100 members of my class of 900 students.

No one gets out of here alive.

Scotty McLennan, a minister and the former dean for Religious Life at Stanford University, doesn’t have a simple answer. When someone dies, “It’s tragic, each time, especially when it’s someone close to you,” McLennan says. As people “face the sequential deaths” of loved ones, those who are left behind “must figure out who to trust to be there for you.”

McLennan cites the example of his 93-year-old uncle, who as a teacher maintained many intergenerational relationships late in life. McLennan advises older people to “find new ways to connect” with younger generations and develop meaningful relationships through mentoring or common interests.

This is ancient wisdom. On his deathbed, Marcus Aurelius reportedly told his guard: “Go to the rising sun, for I am setting.”

They’re both right, of course, but it still hurts to lose the ones who, as Rev. Tansy Chapman, Associate Pastor of the St. Michael and All Angels Episcopal Church in Fort Bragg puts it, “have witnessed our lives.”

Practice self-care

For many people, a grief support group, like that offered by the Friends of Health on the Northern Mendocino Coast, can help. Kathryn Allegre, a licensed spiritual practitioner, co-facilitates the group, which meets weekly in a community room in Fort Bragg. “A lot of people come to us who are allergic to church,” she says. After a loss, she says, “sometimes just getting out of the house is hard.”

Like McClennan, Allegre suggests finding a way to connect with others, through volunteering or even fostering a pet. “Giving of yourself,” she says, “can really help.”

Allegre also stressed the importance of self-care. “Going through the loss of a beloved is a trauma, and it requires extra time, self-love, and patience.” In her experience, doing something for yourself that you find nurturing … isn’t a luxury, it is a must.”

I still talk to my sister. Rev. Chapman says this is pretty normal. She is a trained professional, so I’m going with that. “We hold them in our heart,” she says.

When I think of my friend Jack’s last days, I will always be thankful he bought that new bike.

Meanwhile, my son and daughter-in-law are pregnant. My other son and his partner just got a second cat. It seems my family is growing.

Maybe, this is how we go on.

What does a longer lifespan mean to you? Two talented columnists tag-team every Friday to tackle the challenges that inform your choices — whether you’re pushing 17 or 70. Recent Stanford Center on Longevity Visiting Scholar Susan Nash looks at life experiences through an acerbic personal lens, while longtime writer and health reporter Tony Hicks takes the macro view to examine how society will change as the aging population grows ever larger. Check in every Friday to expand your vision of living the long game and send us your feedback, column suggestions and ideas for future coverage to newsroom@baycitynews.com.

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