Chapter 1

My Journal: End of Life

I believed it when Trump told us that the Corona-virus was a hoax, and I followed his example. I eschewed wearing a mask, gathered with friends, and went to the bar with my friends the night it first reopened.

That was a week ago. Now, I’m just waiting for the end. Breathing is difficult, but with the morphine drip to keep me comfortable, I don’t really notice it. Still, this is a struggle, and I’m mad and disgusted with myself for believing in that fucking fraudster.

There is a unique clarity that I have lacked over the last twenty years of my life. That may be in part due to my doctor being of Indian birth, and my nurses being a mix of Black, Hispanic, and Asian backgrounds. They have made me aware of my prejudices without saying a word about them. They have been more than professional. They have been humanitarians and shown me much kindness. I don’t get much of their time, because they are overwhelmed with all of us requiring so much attention. Yet, when they come by, they take a moment with each of us and make us feel less alone.

Right now, I wish Rush Limbaugh and Alex Jones were here with me. They need to be among those leaving this life for the lies they have spread over the years. I can’t even remember how I got started listening to them. I just did and slowly fell into the trap of believing what they were selling. No matter, I must accept responsibility for my own stupidity in allowing them into my life.

Writing this is very difficult. Well, typing really, as I couldn’t sign my name right now if it were necessary. As it is, I am hunting and pecking on my little Bluetooth keyboard. Thankfully, I have Grammarly to help me with correcting my mistakes. Though, honestly, it wants to fix items that are not incorrect. Sometimes it just annoys me, but I can live with that.

Things I miss, being able to walk outside in the fresh air, rain, or shine. The smell of flowers, the closeness of friends and family. Thank goodness, my wife passed away two years ago. I don’t know that I could handle having her see my decline, or witnessing her own from the ravages of this disease. Being able to breathe without feeling like I’m drowning or suffocating.

I’ve gotten past the anger, denial, bargaining, and depression stages of grief knowing I’m going to die at the ripe old age of 64. I accept that my life is coming to an end, which is why I am writing this.

It is taking everything out of me to type this out, but it helps me to have something to focus on. Without this to occupy my mind, I would sit here thinking about things I have no control over, which wouldn’t do me any good.

I feel so tired. There’s a crushing pain in my chest, even though the morphine allows me to ignore it. I feel like the next time I lay back will be the last time I will look upon this world. If so, then may God have mercy on my soul.

If this were a story like the ones I have come to really enjoy, I would leave this life and get to start over again as my teen self with all of my knowledge intact. I would then be able to live a much better and more informed life.

April 23, 2020

The above was Alfred J. Thorne’s final entry. He passed away shortly after finishing the above entry.

Our prayers go with him, and we hope that he finds comfort beyond this life.

Signed, the Nursing staff here at St. Johns.

Posted to Mr. Thorne’s Facebook page, per his request upon his death.