Don’t Fear the Reaper.

Rather inevitably the topic of the hour is death. With so many celebrities shuffling off this mortal coil lately the subject comes up time and again. Of course, for those of a certain age, some of the latest crop hit rather close to home. Victoria Wood was only 62 – a mere 6 years older than me – and Prince was only 57 – just 1 year older than me. My boss, who just celebrated her 60th birthday, is taking it a bit to heart especially as she hasn’t been completely well lately. I, rather inevitably, tend to be more Stoic about the whole thing.

Now, like most people, I’m not exactly looking forward to dying. If I had the opportunity to live a long and healthy life into my 80’s, 90’s and beyond I certainly wouldn’t say no. Personally I intend to live just as long as I can. But I’m not particularly afraid of death. For one thing I don’t think that there’s anything to be particularly afraid about. I know some people are almost terrified at the prospect. When I ask them why they either can’t or won’t answer me. I can only surmise that they either don’t know why they’re afraid or they are so afraid that they can’t put that level of fear into mere words. I don’t get it. I suppose that if you believed in the whole Heaven/Hell thing I can understand why you feared going to Hell but such crude and childish beliefs are rare these days. Some people have even said to me that they fear oblivion – being snuffed out like a candle or switched off like a lightbulb. This, if you think about it is even less rational than the belief in Hell. If you’re snuffed out then there would be nobody left to feel anything so why fear being ‘deleted’ from the universe. One second you’re here and the next – nothing. I’ve even had people say at this point: Oh my (or words to that effect) imagine an eternity of nothingness! At this point I give it one more try – saying that there will be nothing there to perceive the ‘nothingness’ – and then walk away leaving them confused.

What I’m more afraid of is not death itself but the process of dying – specifically (I suppose) any pain or other discomforts associated with it. We’ve all heard (and some of us have experienced) the horror stories of long drawn out and painful deaths. That’s what worries me, the dying rather than the death. My ideal deaths are either in my sleep – basically going to bed one night and simply not waking up – or something very sudden that maybe catches me unawares and I die before even realising it. Of course in an ideal world I’d die with a sword in my hand after successfully defending women and children against a host of monsters. They’d build me a little monument and sing songs about my brave deeds and centuries later Hollywood would make a movie about me and I’d be played by someone like Tom Cruise or, if possible, someone my own height. But, after living here for 56 years I realise that we can’t have everything in life – or death.

Hopefully, and statistically, I’ve got a few decades yet (at least). If nothing unexpected happens I imagine I’ll be around for another 20 years. If I’m lucky I might go another 30 years or even longer. I guess we’ll see. But increasing numbers of dying celebrities isn’t going to make me maudlin. Some of them I’ll miss but I’m already aware enough of my own mortality not to need reminding that clocks are ticking and all that jazz. In the meantime I shall read good books, listen to good music and, as often as I can, talk to attractive women. What else do I need to keep thoughts of the Reaper away?