Please Keep Me on Ice Until Trump is Out of Office

On the positive side, although I am an aged 87, my brain is working remarkably well.

In the inevitable negative column, some recently discovered lung issues make breathing, at times, difficult.

Still, with these two realities battling to learn which will lead to my eventual, hopefully long-off obituary, along with typical last wishes, I’d like to petition God to hold off on any age/illness demise until Trump is out of office.

Does this seem like a weird request when there are so many final desires that will, one day, in the far out future, demand attention?

For example, please be sure that my dog Doris is cared for by a loving relative. Or be sure to watch over my children, grandchildren, and dear friends. Please keep them healthy and safe when I’m gone. Normal, right? Expected? Of course.

But one plea that keeps pushing all of the above aside is to remain upright and breathing (although as mentioned previously, difficult), is this one: “Please God, do not let me die during the presidency of Donald Trump. Let me live to see a new day with him gone.”

While this may seem like an odd prayer for final thoughts is normal for someone like me, or you, who may be aggravated, angry, and despondent over the filth in the Oval office.

Trump’s behavior not only clouds every day , but tarnishes the 24 hours as if a garbage truck unloaded its contents at my front door. The unwillingness of his party to acknowledge his dementia, destruction, and duplicity so depresses me that my eventual demise. (Not anytime soon, I said. Please stop with the sentimentality.)

All this contemplation has led me to search and learn who the U.S. presidents were at the time of my parents’ early deaths. When this query first popped up in my brain, I wasn’t sure about my motivation. But now, I think my desire to resurrect my parents’ lives, at the time of their deaths, was a way to picture my folks in the context of worldly events. Perhaps envisioning the pair in their separate political climates might settle me down. Might help me get through an outrageous Trump day without weeping or depression.

My father, Irving Shapiro, died Jan. 9, 1958. He was a young 49-year-old, but damned by diabetes, weight, and a three pack a day Camels habit. But also he a was a failed shopkeeper, a loving father and a trying-to-be good husband.

At the time of my Dad’s young death, Dwight D. Eisenhower was president. And with the help of AI, I learned that although a Republican, “he supported a policy of modern Republicanism that occupied a middle ground between liberal Democrats and the conservative wing of the Republican Party. Eisenhower continued New Deal programs, expanded Social Security, and prioritized a balanced budget over tax cuts.

“The consensus among historians has shifted dramatically for Dwight D. Eisenhower, from viewing him as a passive, average president to recognizing him as a highly effective, near-great leader who skillfully managed the Cold War, advanced civil rights subtly, embraced New Deal principles, built infrastructure (like the Interstate Highway System), and launched the Space Race. Although,some still debate his handling of McCarthyism and early civil rights issues. His reputation rose significantly after declassified documents revealed his deep involvement in policy, countering the initial image of a golf-playing figurehead.”

So perhaps Dad was okay with Eisenhower and harbored none of the loathing I connect to our current president.

My mother Min died December 19, 1981, at age 68, when the President was Ronald Reagan.

“Ultimately, the consensus among historians is that Reagan was an impactful president, often ranking in the upper-middle tier of U.S. presidents. His ability to enact a conservative revolution and shape the political landscape is widely acknowledged, though the long-term outcomes and ethical dimensions of his policies remain intensely debated.”

Well not as clear cut as I would’ve preferred, but surely Mom did not wake every morning tossing objects at Reagan’s appearance on television as her daughter does now.

But my headlined goal may be thwarted by my own religion. In the Jewish tradition “Jews bury the deceased quickly (ideally within 24 hours) out of deep respect for the body as a divine vessel, allowing the soul to transition peacefully, based on biblical commands in Deuteronomy (Deut. 21:23) to not leave a body unburied overnight, and to prevent disease before modern preservation. This swift burial honors the sanctity of the body and helps the soul begin its journey, though modern logistics (travel, permits) can sometimes cause minor delays.”

Hopefully, all the above will be for naught. This writer, though elderly, might live to 90, or maybe 100. If so, by then Trump will be long gone and my fears of his damage will be for naught.

But just in case, please hang onto this essay.