I know that death is an inevitable part of life. I know that. I’m not afraid of death. I’m afraid of surviving, of being left behind with a gaping hole in my life.
My uncle had a heart attack a few days ago. He’s still in the hospital, but appears to be recovering fairly well after surgery to install a shunt.
It’s made my parents start looking very seriously at preparing for their own deaths. They long ago bought a plot in a small cemetery near where my father grew up, and they bought a headstone a few years ago. Now they are looking at prearranging and paying for their funerals. And they are preparing things so that my mother knows what to do if my father goes first. We had a very matter-of-fact conversation about it last night and that was more frightening than I expected it to be. I’m not prepared for the inevitable, not theirs, not mine.
In my current rather suppressed state of mind (which isn’t helped by the fact that I am desperately tired), XUP’s post about seven steps to eternal youth struck a nerve. I’m older than my years, sadder than my life experiences should have made me, less of a participant in my life that I would ever have dreamed. If you’re as old as you feel, I’m 90.
XUP, thank you for posting that — I just may have to adopt it as my manifesto.