Immortality Creeps In, But How Will We Respond?

It’s always interesting how in times of death and dying we realize, or at least, accept, profound truths about our lives. In such an atmosphere of finality, we may look upon our spouses with new feelings of love and appreciation. We may hug our kids a little longer, just if only to have them linger on as children, as childhood surely does not last. But this time was a bit different.

My wife’s grandfather, Jack, died last week. He was a good man, a loving father, grandfather, great grandfather, retired policeman and a hero of the Pacific War. Had a young Jack not have been the first sailor to spot a diving Kamikaze shooting out of a cloud – and heading directly for his ship – the U.S.S. Hornet might have sank that day. Jack, or Grandpops as we called him, was that sort of guy. He died at age 89.

We were all sad to see him go, because Grandpops wasn’t some stuffy, embittered old guy. Up until the end he was a great person to be around, a natural storyteller and backslapper with an endless supply of wanderlust. His death was sad, yes, but not tragic when compared to the idea of a younger person dying. Grandpops lived a long life, he lived it well, and loved and cared for people who in turn loved and cared for him. He has gone on to his good judgment, and we are all thankful to have known him. Perhaps we’ll see him on the other side.

But what about that new so-called “truth” that I think I’ve stumbled upon, a new reality that, right now, only the most sensitive and perhaps perceptive people are realizing, though the idea is steadily creeping into popular consciousness, at least in the Western World. What am I getting it?

It struck me at the gathering after the funeral. We had buried our beloved relative and then, like all good American families, went to eat. I was waiting on line at the buffet table, ready to dig in after a day of philosophical mourning, when my 69 year old father in law, a Vietnam vet, snuck up on me and slapped my back. Dad’s always been an outgoing, amicable guy – like his late father – and I guess he wanted to put one over on me. But that’s not the point. The point is, when he playfully cuffed me, it hurt. There was still real strength in him. 

The zing of the slap was then made more effective by what immediately followed. Standing alongside Dad was his wife, Deanna. Deanna was dressed in an elegant black outfit that amplified her chiseled face and blonde hair. She caught my eye because she looked stunning, just beautiful. She was there joking around, poking fun at Dad, and like us eagerly awaiting the post-funeral repast. Deanna is sophisticated and classy and youthful. She’s a highly educated, professional nurse with a grown son and she doesn’t mince words. She’s almost 60. But she doesn’t look it, and frankly, I noticed that none of other women her age did either, at least not the ones there.

Then, at that moment, it hit me. It really, really hit me. These people, my so-called elders, look vivacious, act vibrant, and barring any serious accidents (God forbid), they will not be expiring anytime soon. Life is full of challenges, joys, suffering and disease, but the bottom line is that people – most people – alive today and under 70 are going to live for a long, long time. And they’re going to stay active for a long, long time. And if their lives are any way to measure it, my life may very well follow the same path. Perhaps life isn’t so

The Elderly are declining in number and soon won't exist,
but not for the reason you think

short anymore. Perhaps it’s getting longer, a lot longer.

Of course, we’ve been reading about this for a long time. People are living longer. Older people are more present, but not as members of the elderly. It’s not that we’re just better at curing certain maladies like heart disease, diabetes and cancer (though we are making strides in that direction), humanity is gaining at preventing, delaying and treating them. AIDS and HIV, once the looming, contagious tormentors of the 1980’s, have been tamed. Meanwhile the superbug of the Zombie apocalypse has yet to arrive, though judging from the looks of certain senior developments in Southern Florida, it happened in the late 1980’s.

This has created almost an entirely new genre of science fiction where either the dead return to reside, in normal fashion, with the living or where people stop dying altogether. One of these books, The Returned, deals with not just the supernatural factors involved but the more practical ones. If the dead returned, how would that affect marriages and other relationships? How would we deal with the return of dead criminals and killers? Would they resume their captivity? Could murderers and their once-victims, perhaps, go to counseling to work things out? What about debt? Would a returned dead person still be required to repay an old car loan? Could anyone still hold a normal grudge against a person who lived, clearly died and was buried, and then reappeared?

And what of that other premise, immortality or near-immortality? Are we not there already? Could anyone reasonably pledge lifelong love and fidelity to their spouse at age 19 when forever could last a century or longer? Would it be fair for me to ask my wife to put up with my antics until the early 22^nd century? Could we start seeing 70 year mortgage loans? If people are going to live and remain active until 100 or older, perhaps we should change the notion of retirement to something else.

Bear with me here. This is real. I just saw it and couldn’t believe my eyes. It’s not just that older people looked worse when I was a kid; in the 1970’s anyone over 65 was literally falling apart. At 70 and 80 people became elderly, with most reduced to a near immobility and forgetfulness. One of my earliest memories was when, at age 5, my mother took me to a nursing home in South Orange to see her grandmother. There I saw an endless, dwindling group of people wasting way; most of them were in their 70’s. Today, there are cops walking the beat in their 70’s. There are teachers in my own high school taking groups on long, strenuous field trips to the Metropolitan Museum of Art in their late 70’s.

My beloved late Grandmother Lillian hobbled through the last 10 years of her life, going in an out of hospitals and living with family members. Heart disease practically crippled her and made a mess of her final decade. She died at 80. Her husband Barney died at 70 of prostate cancer, which is extremely treatable today. There are bus drivers that age now, and they’re still chugging along, with no problem that a medication or an outpatient surgical procedure cannot address.

Yes, people are mortal and the specter of death is a constant, even when we don’t think about it. Modern medicine along with preventative care can advance all they want, but nothing is going to save you if you’re on a 747 that explodes at 35,000 feet. But for those of us – most of us – facing the prospect of a natural death from old age, the prospect of living lengthy, active working lives is here and now. How families and governments prepare to meet this challenge should be interesting. Any suggestions?