I don’t mean to be overly morbid here, but this little piece from tomorrow’s NYT, caught my eye.  It recounts a mother’s death, something I have recently experienced.  In this case the mother sensed that the end was at hand and seemed determined to let herself down with as little disruption to her family as possible.  When the son, a physician, tries to intervene, she resists.  In his words:

When I called to suggest that she be readmitted to the hospital for intensive therapy, she refused. When I encouraged her to eat, she remarked, "I have eaten enough."

I said that my wife and I were coming to see her. "Wait a few days, don’t make two trips" was her response.

     She wanted him to wait until she died so he would not have to make two trips!  Wow.  Her outlook was very much Chuang Tzu’s:

This life we’re given comes in its own season, and then follows its vanishing away.  If you’re at ease in your season, if you can dwell in its vanishing away, joy and sorrow never touch you.  This is what the ancients called getting free…(92).