Dying Alone

This evening is the end of a three-day weekend here in Ukraine. For me, that means three days of hanging around my apartment by myself, rarely going out, having nothing interesting to do and no one interested in doing it with me – almost no social interaction, save for a bit on Saturday.

Under those circumstances, it’s not unusual for my mind to go off in all kinds of directions. And sometimes, when I feel particularly isolated and alone, I get to thinking about my life here in this country and what would happen if the end comes while I am still here. It’s not pretty.

One of my first posts when I started this blog back in 2012 was called Living Alone. It was a partly humorous and partly serious look at the fact that I was living alone at the time and had been for quite some time before that. Seven years later, I still live alone.

One aspect of living alone that I did not touch on back in 2012 was what would happen if I had a sudden, serious medical problem in my apartment or out on the street somewhere. I got to thinking about it the past couple of days, and in that thinking, I imagined dying alone.

Earlier in my time here, I had a pretty wide circle of acquaintances, and I even had a few people I could legitimately call friends. And for years there was at least one person close enough for me to entrust with a key to my place and who usually also had contact with my landlord. That’s not the case any longer.

The last person who I thought was a real friend and who had a key left Ukraine earlier this year for a new life in southern Europe. The sad thing is that since she left she has not even tried to keep in touch. It’s like our friendship never mattered or perhaps never happened. That stings.

My circle has been shrinking for the past few years, and now it’s pretty much empty. I wrote a post about Circles of Friendship almost five years ago. In that post I described how each of us has several circles around us; on the innermost circle there are the closest people, and there are usually a few more circles with less-close friends, acquaintances, and finally just the mass of strangers all around us. I conceded that at time I didn’t think there was anyone on my innermost circle, and now I am not sure there is really anyone on the next circle or even the one after that.

No One Would Know… or Care

I am truly alone here these days. The reasons don’t really matter, but I suppose it has to do with age more than anything and probably also with ways in which I have changed in the past few years – and not for the better. I came to realize this weekend that if I were suddenly gone, no one would miss me. Days or perhaps weeks could pass before anyone might come looking.

I would be missed at work first, not so much because anyone cared but because it would seem strange after a few days that I wasn’t there to open my room for classes. But even then, I’m not sure how many days would pass before anyone got curious enough to try to figure out where I was. And even if someone did, there is almost no one there who knows where I live or how to get in touch. There is no one who has a key, no one who knows how to contact my landlord. There is no one.

And as for “friends” or acquaintances, there is no one who keeps in touch frequently enough to make a difference. Everyone has either left the country or just dropped me off their radar screens (admittedly, in some cases the “dropping” was mutual). There is no one who has a key, no one who knows how to contact my landlord. There is no one.

It occurred to me that if I had a heart attack or something here at home, that would be it. I would stay where I fell for many days, perhaps even weeks. And then what? When someone did finally find a way to get in and check on me, what would they do with my body? And what would happen to my possessions?

I don’t think there is anyone here who would know how to get in touch with my family or who would even feel moved to do so. I have no close friends here now, so the disposition of my body would likely be some kind of cheap grave and then quickly forgotten.

As for my possessions, the worst thing is imagining that my landlord would simply take everything of value – computer, video and audio gear, bicycle, cash, etc. – simply because he controls the apartment. One of my daughters has access to my U.S. bank account, but the money in my Ukraine bank account could not be accessed by anyone and, ultimately, would probably be kept by the bank.

Another Reason to Go

It’s not a pretty picture. And the more I think about it, the more it tells me that I should leave this place before it becomes a reality. Better to be around or at least close to family in this regard. Of course, things can happen to you anywhere – driving far from home, on a trip someplace far away – but at least spending the majority of your time close to people to whom you matter makes it better.

Of course, once you die, you have no reason to care about what happens to you or your stuff, right? You’re gone, and it’s other people’s problems. So it really shouldn’t matter where or how you die, or what happens with your remains and possessions.

Yet somehow… it does.

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