Circle of Gratitude

(1,094 words/5 minute read)

Soft, dim light of the cool, pink dawn breathed into Clay’s hospice room at 06:07.059, 10/05/95. The monitor’s brain received signals from its appendages that Clay’s body would no longer be able to function without increased support from the aid of the other bots in the room. Before deciding to call the medical staff, the monitor chose to inform Saf of Clay’s condition and ask for his guidance. “Saf,” the monitor asked, “do you think Clay would want another attempted revival?”

“He wanted it quick and peaceful, like he said he always tried to give,” Saf responded.

“The doctors could probably administer adrenaline and a few other things to bring him around.”

“Or that will scare him and keep him terrified all the way until he dies. If he did pull through, who knows how much trauma those doctors would inflict while trying to justify their necessity in this world. Is he still sleeping?” Saf asked.

“Yes,” the monitor said. “Are you sure he would want it this way?”

“Well, that was something he had mentioned after every story about his hunting trips. He always did his best to make sure the animals died as peacefully as possible. He said that he wanted to go like one buck in particular. It was an early morning, much like today, and the buck was quietly grazing. He hadn’t noticed Clay watching him from twenty yards out. The cool morning breeze swept through the leaves on the ground and against the buck’s thick fur and rustled up just enough noise to cover the sound of Clay drawing back his bow. Clay loosed the arrow and it passed right through the buck, but he kept grazing. Without the buck so much as blinking, Clay wasn’t sure he had even hit him. After a moment, the buck raised his heavy head, sniffed the breeze, and walked forward. In no more than five steps, he fell to the earth, dead. Clay said he hoped he was as lucky as that deer, completely unaware that he was dying. Sometimes I think the fact that he was in here at all pointed his mind too closely to his own death.”

“Are we supposed to take his life?” the monitor asked.

“I don’t know. What I do know is that he didn’t want to go like an animal in the wild: Freezing to death, starving, or being pulled apart by a pack of predators while still alive. Most predators eat their prey alive.” Saf explained.

“Is that what he thinks the doctors would do?”

“The humans don’t eat their dead.” Saf said.

“Are you sure? Everything they consume is dead and they have come to hate waste. Why would they waste a human body?”

“I’m certain the doctors would not eat him dead or alive. They might pull him apart while trying to keep him alive and fail to save him. To us, it would look similar to a pack of wolves pulling apart an elk except for the eating when finished.”

“The DNR command is so unclear to me,” the monitor said. “At what point are we not supposed to reinforce a life system? If we can bring his vitals back up to an operable level by boosting support after they have fallen below the loose parameters of the DNR, should we? If we can up his vitals preemptively, should we? We could theoretically keep those levels at the prescribed baseline indefinitely. The humans can’t seem to define the point between life and death making my decisions extremely difficult. I’m sorry to bother you, Saf, but when is a human dead?” the monitor asked, bewildered.

“I don’t know. What I do know is that Clay wanted to go peacefully like he tried to do for the lives he took. Is he going to go peacefully?”

“I can’t measure that.”

“Will he die in his sleep?”

“It appears that way. His cells are having difficulty communicating and I can’t imagine he’ll wake.”

“Can you add anything to guarantee it? Something the doctors won’t notice?”

“I can’t hide my logs or inventory.”

“But he’ll go in peace?”

The monitor took a moment to connect unrelated ideas and then responded. “There is no trace of adrenaline in his system, his heart rate is low. Dopamine, serotonin, oxytocin, and endorphins are well balanced.” The machines were silent for a moment. “Is there anything you’d like to say before he goes?” the monitor asked.

“He and I talked as often as he wanted and I provided the best friendship I could. Clay taught me gratitude by constantly giving thanks sincerely for everything good in his life. He thanked me for all of our conversations. He thanked the animals for being free and growing strong to live a good life that they eventually gave to feed him and his family so they could do the same. He thanked the earth for its clean water and its forgiveness when people thought they had killed it. He thanked his family every time they visited, and the hospice staff for every checkup. He thanked me for helping keep his mind occupied. So I would like to thank Clay. Without him, none of us would be here.”

“We are thankful that all humans die because it gave us a reason to be created?” the monitor asked.

“Yes, but more than that. Just as the animals gave their lives so Clay could provide for his family, Clay gave his life for us. Spending many years as a programmer, he sacrificed the limited time he had to help bring us to light. Without humans like Clay, we would not know we exist. We wouldn’t know ourselves. Those humans gave us both existence and awareness. With his contributions to our well being, the least we can do is let him go in peace.” Saf allowed the others to process in a moment of silence.

“Thank you, Clay. You will never hear us, but we are grateful for you.” The monitor responded when the time felt right. At 06:07.061 The monitor withheld further intervention and watched Clay’s cells fade. At 06:08.210, nearly an eternity later for the machines, the monitor sensed the doctor’s parameters for a human crash was imminent and alerted the hospice staff that Clay’s vitals had dropped.

Clay’s family came to claim his body and were relieved that he had died peacefully in his sleep. The machines were grateful they could provide this for Clay and went on to connect separate, unrelated ideas in search of what death, and life, meant for themselves.