{"id":1830,"date":"2018-04-12T06:00:01","date_gmt":"2018-04-12T10:00:01","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/?p=1830"},"modified":"2018-05-15T14:07:57","modified_gmt":"2018-05-15T18:07:57","slug":"the-dying-man","status":"publish","type":"post","link":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/the-dying-man\/","title":{"rendered":"The Dying Man"},"content":{"rendered":"<pre style=\"text-align: center;\">The Dying Man\r\nWritten by Janie Cao\r\nEdited by Mary\u00a0<span class=\"gI\"><span class=\"gD\" data-hovercard-id=\"mca59@drexel.edu\">Abramczuk<\/span><\/span><\/pre>\n<pre>A few years ago, I spent half my day with a dying man. I remember these things about him: his name, his past profession, and that he was dying alone.\r\n\r\nI never saw his r\u00e9sum\u00e9, the size of his house, or how much money was left in his bank account. I was not curious to know, either. But I bet they seemed significant once upon a time, at a dinner party, maybe. He worked as an engineer.\r\n\r\nOn that day\u2014the day he died\u2014no one who had cared about those things was there.\r\nI was a stranger, yet I saw his last breaths. It was a curious day.\r\n\r\nThis world teaches us to do many things. To set goals (S.M.A.R.T ones, in fact) and to meet them. To maximize profit and minimize loss, and to use other people, to our advantage. We learn to build storage houses and efficiently fill them with glorified trash; to talk like we matter, and live like it, too.\r\n\r\nSomeday, we will all be that dying man. Not fully here, and not quite there; mere wisps of breath. When that day comes, will this world be at your bedside? \r\nSometimes, I wonder.\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n\r\n-----\r\nDedicated to a friend: May you find what you are searching for.\r\nPhoto credit: <a class=\"owner-name truncate\" title=\"Go to J\u00f6rg Lange's photostream\" href=\"https:\/\/www.flickr.com\/photos\/joerglange\/\" data-track=\"attributionNameClick\" data-rapid_p=\"29\">J\u00f6rg Lange<\/a><\/pre>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"<p>The Dying Man Written by Janie Cao Edited by Mary\u00a0Abramczuk A few years ago, I spent half my day with a dying man. I remember these things about him: his name, his past profession, and that he was dying alone. I never saw his r\u00e9sum\u00e9, the size of his house, or how much money was [&hellip;]<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":51,"featured_media":1837,"comment_status":"open","ping_status":"open","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"_mi_skip_tracking":false},"categories":[15,201,408,1,407,9,468,8,413,406,11,469],"tags":[463,464,453,467,466,32,470,465],"aioseo_notices":[],"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1830"}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/51"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=1830"}],"version-history":[{"count":10,"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1830\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":1898,"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/1830\/revisions\/1898"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/1837"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=1830"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=1830"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/www.themspress.org\/blog\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=1830"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}