Dying and Living

Andrew Rich

San Francisco acted relatively swiftly and effectively to the coronavirus pandemic. At the time of this writing, there have been less than forty-five confirmed deaths from COVID-19. We should all consider ourselves lucky. I don’t. My father was one of those forty-five.

In so many ways, this was a tragedy. One of my dearest friends is an end-of-life specialist, and we’ve had many insightful talks about what makes a “good death” and how we can help our parents, and in our own turn, help ourselves and our loved ones be okay with the inevitable. Even though he was ahead of the wave, hospitals were already on lockdown when we took my father to the ER in mid-March, with what we assumed was just a mild fever and labored breathing. Nobody was allowed to accompany him past the entrance, not even my physician brother. His regular doctor was not allowed in, nor was his wife of sixty-four years.
That was the last we saw him, the last I talked to him, before he died.

There is a hole in my life, but it is filling with memories of the ninety-two great years he had, and not the terrible final ten days. And from these memories I am trying to prise some lessons, on how to live a good life. That is what I want this story to be about.

My father was intelligent enough and diligent enough and dedicated enough and fortunate enough to earn a decent living. He did not want more, or expect more. He had his good friends, his close family, his hobbies and habits. He built a vacation home in Sonoma (some of you may remember it from the party at the end of business school) where he could have horses, and a horseshoe pit, and weekends full of chores to keep him active in retirement. My father enjoyed wherever he was and whomever he was with. There are so many stories to tell, but in brief, he had a good life. He was content.

I would like to think that has been a good part of who I am as well. Or do we all just become our parents whether we like it or not? In either case, I have had a good life, mostly tragedy-free, and I am intelligent enough and diligent enough and fortunate enough to have earned a decent living. I have my own close friends and family, my hobbies and habits. So, am I content?

I’ve survived COVID-19, at least in its current mutation, but life is full of surprises and I think we can all agree that being in our 60s now, we should be prepared for almost anything. If I were to take stock today, how would I answer the question I have long held up as the model of a successful life: was I a good person? I can list no great accomplishments, no world-changing contributions to mankind or the planet, and I’m mildly disappointed in that regard. Only mildly. I have been selfish with my time and with my energy and with my earnings, and I’m mildly ashamed in that regard. But only mildly. I have done nothing spectacular, but I have also done no harm to others. I have tried to be a good person, an honest person, a moral person. I think contentment comes from acceptance. My father was an honest, moral man who did no harm in the world, and I believe he was very accepting of who he was.

Three months later, we have not yet been able to have a memorial, refusing in our old-school way to let it happen on Zoom. But we have his ashes, and when we can all comfortably gather as an extended family (there are twenty-four of us) we will be together at the house in Sonoma. We will plant a young tree and bury his ashes under it, and as the tree grows, we will tell our children and our grandchildren about him, and about how to live a good life, and how to be content.