Everybody will die. Sorry.
Even I will die, which makes me even sorrier.
We all lose the fight in the end, but some people are beaten by Life, and others are beaten by Death. And it seems you can’t choose which one applies to you, which is a great pity. I don’t want to know the time or date of my death, but I would like to know whether it will be Life that crushes me or Death that comes to me from behind a cloud, as it were, twirling his black cape in a theatrical gesture.
It will certainly happen some way . . . almost definitely a way I had not imagined . . . and it doesn’t matter that, like Woody Allen, I just don’t want to be around when it happens . . .; I’ll be there.
So, there is the little matter of whether I will be killed by Death or killed by Life.
Those who are killed by Death have disconnected from Life before they die. It happens to the very sick and the very tired, the very cynical or the very depressed.
It is not a lifestyle choice.
Nobody actually wants to be in a place where their only escape is the Big D. Nobody really wants to be that disconnected . . . so alone that they crave the ultimate disconnection.
Death is not just a function of age. Even the young can be very sick or very tired, or very cynical or very depressed. I have lost friends to cancer and heart failure, to self-loathing and inaction.
And this is not, unfortunately, out of the ordinary.
Then there are those who are defeated by Life.
They grapple with existence. They connect . . . with other people, with the natural world, with the stored wisdom of Time. If they get the chance, they “do not go gentle into that good night.”
If they are yet still alive, they will dance. If they are yet still alive, they will connect with the blue of the sky, and they will listen to the voice of the river.
This position is not a conscious lifestyle choice, either. These people are described by others as ‘brave’ or ‘positive’, but they have no choice in the matter. Life would be unbearable without the fight.
They seem to die too soon, or by accident, or very quickly, out of the blue.
To misquote Hamlet, it is a consummation devoutly to be wished. Only, he meant suicide, which would put him slap bang in the other camp. He is a man tired of life, which makes him easy prey for Death.
I’m not tired of life yet, so I am still hoping . . .