Well-Swept Yard

  My father, Julius Page Allen, was a man of few words. Maybe as a consequence, I remember many of the things that he said.  He said to me one day, "I just want to wake up dead."  That is a marvelous attitude, thinking on arrival at that moment without thinking about suffering or guilt or any of the other things that often accompany dying.  He had watched many people die. He knew. He knew that dying could come as the conclusion of a long days of suffering and insufferable visits from relatives who check in on you to see if you are dead yet.  As it happens, he woke up on the day of his death. He had a nice breakfast. I think he did a reasonably good job of running a Norelco around his chin. "I'm ready for a nap." He liked a good nap and took one as often as he could.  At any rate, he lay down. I hope he went to sleep. He did not get up. 

I just want to wake up dead That is what my father always said about dying. A gentle, uneventful passing.  This is what happened. He awoke on the fateful day, got up, ate his usual cholesterol-rich breakfast, and then returned to bed for a nap.  He was in his mid-nineties.  At some point somebody noticed that he did not look quite right. A check at the bedside revealed that he had died during his nap. As I see it, things turned out better than he had hoped for. He woke up, had a good breakfast, fell asleep and died.  I'm glad he had the breakfast.