Every beginning inevitably leads to an end
The important thing is what you do with the time between the two
I’m not afraid of death. I just don’t want to be there when it happens.
Woody Allen
Today’s a day that makes it easy to think about macabre and/or depressing topics. It's cold, rainy, and as grey as the hull of the USS Texas- definitely not the sort of sun-kissed day made for prancing about out of doors and enjoying life as you soak up some Vitamin D.
No, today I find myself pondering mortality- my own to a certain degree, but I’m thinking in more general terms. I’m thinking about how everything, whether animal, mineral, vegetable, or manufactured, eventually returns to its original state- ashes to ashes, dust to dust. So before anyone begins to worry about me, know that I’m just feeling philosophical…and a bit sad.
Yesterday I wrote about my friend Les, who’s going into hospice and will almost certainly be dead within a matter of weeks. He seems surprisingly at peace with the idea of dying at a relatively young age (55). I’m sad that someone I’ve respected and loved from afar is departing this realm far too soon.
My wife is a nurse practitioner in an oncology clinic, so by association, I know far more about cancer than I want to. The advantage has always been that this knowledge and the people it impacts have always been abstract concepts for me. I know nothing of her patients, so there’s no emotional connection. Then someone like Les comes along, and the next thing you know, he’s posting this on Facebook: “Well, folks, I tried, but it’s not working. I’m ceasing all treatment and going into hospice.”
Suddenly you’re forced to come to grips with the reality that someone you care about is about to die, and they know that day isn’t far off. What am I supposed to do with that? How do I process that sort of information? This doesn’t happen to people I know; it isn’t supposed to happen to someone I know. How can this be?
I know; I ask many questions that have no answers, but that’s all I have right now. So here I sit in my basement office as the rain pounds down outside, listening to George Strait as I try to make sense of the nonsensical. It’s like trying to divide by zero; no matter how many iterations you try, the answer will always be something that has no explanation and makes no sense.
Death is a part of life. Each of us is born into this work with the promise that someday we’ll be dragged out feet first- we just don’t know when, and so we live as if immortality is our lot in life. We try not to think about death, as if not thinking about it will somehow reduce its likelihood. But, as with everything else in life, denial is more than a vast navigable waterway in Egypt, no?
I understand that I’m on the back end of the bell curve in a purely actuarial sense. I’ll be 62 in April, and I’m OK with that- if for no other reason than it beats the alternative. If I were to look back at my life and map the ups and downs like an EKG, it would probably look like someone who’s about to go into cardiac arrest. The highs have been pretty incredible and the lows…well, let’s just say that parts of my life have involved plumbing new depths.
I want to think that all of those experiences have taught me a few lessons. They’ve certainly made me the person I am today, and while I may not be changing the world, my presence certainly hasn’t made it any worse. Not everyone is born to change the world with sweeping sledgehammer blows. Most of us are left to nibble at the margins with rubber mallets. Lord knows I’ve gone through more than my share of rubber mallets during my sojourn on this rock.
If you’ve raised a child and sent them out into the world successfully, you’ve changed the world, and you have my admiration. That’s more than I’ve done, but I chose a different path, and I have no regrets. If I can positively influence my nieces and nephews, I’ll take that. Hopefully, I’ve hit a few other high notes along the way as well.
My time will come eventually. I hope it’s a long way down the road because I still have time I want to enjoy with my wife. But, when that day does come, there’s only one hand I want to hold and one pair of eyes I want to gaze into. I hope that when people think of me, it will be with smiles and laughter…’cuz funerals are sad enough as it is, don’tchathink?
I used to think it would be fun to live long enough to be a burden to my children. Then I realized I don’t have any children, so I hope that I’ll exit with people laughing- with me, not at me, of course.
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