I think about death every day. I used to not think about it as often, but after my wife’s lung cancer has metastasized to stage 4 and all treatments were failing, thinking daily about death has become a part of me.
I think about my wife’s death. I think about Snickers’ death. I think about my eventual death. I think about the relatives I loved who died long ago. I think about my mother, who has already lived past the ages at which both of her parents died.
I have no fear of death. Zero. Zip. Nada.
I don’t want to suffer. That’s all.
I don’t believe in the afterlife. I think when we die, we’re gone. Eventually, our bodies decay and become part of the earth again. I think death is not suffering – the lights simply go out for good.
Life is suffering.
Life is hell on earth (sometimes).
Dying might be terrible, but being dead, not so much.
I am ready to go when my time comes.
But I don’t have any plans to kill myself right now. I’ve got things to do. I have Wiggles to take care of. I have laps to swim, paintings to make, many more walks to savor and more life to live.
Before she died, my wife told me she wanted me to do whatever I needed to do to be happy. She said, “You have a lot of life left in you. I want you to be happy.”
Today, I’m kind of miserable because of my knee injury. But I know what to do about it and I’m keeping myself busy as it heals.
Until then, I’ll do my best to do things that make me happy. Or if not happy, at least content.
That’s good enough for me – for today.