Realized the other day that every funeral I’ve attended for the last five years has been for someone who died at an age younger than me.
Only a few died from an accident. Most deaths came from heart attacks, cancer, blood clots or another malady that falls under the the term called “natural causes.”
Two weeks ago, a 52-year-old friend died from a blood clot. Sadly, I couldn’t get out of a previous commitment and missed her funeral but her death drove home the point that — at age 64 — I’m living on borrowed time.
Death is the one certainty of life. None of us can escape it. We can, hopefully, remain healthy longer. In some cases, we live longer than perhaps we should — long enough to wither away with declining health and diminished mental capacity.
I have no desire to go out that way. I have no will to lie in bed, incapacitated, while someone else feeds me, wipes he drool off my lip or takes care of more personal problems of hygiene or sanitation. I’m promised Amy that I will never allow myself to become a burden of care on her or anyone else.
When I feel that time approaching, I will climb into the saddle and ride off into the sunset to die on my own terms and in my own way.
If some texting, distracted driver doesn’t take me out on the open road I will die on my terms, on a time I set and in my own way. It’s my life and my decision.