I Won’t Fight Death to the Death

Death feels to me like an invitation, one that we reject at our peril. We can overthink it, worry it. Not now, we might say to death. Later would be better, or never. As adults we develop an opinion about it. I tell my ex-partners I will help them with their goals of care—detailed end-of-life instructions for their caregivers, possibly our kids. I want the kids to be spared any unnecessary heavy lifting, decisions for which they’re unprepared. I’m not going to die, each of the exes says. Yes, I say, that’s excellent. Let’s call that Plan A. Now, let’s talk about Plan B. I know that at least one of them wants nothing to do with Western medicine. This is the time to say so.