It pretty much crosses my mind every day in one way or another. Some days I abhor the thought of it. There’s so much I want to see and do!
And other days I’m totally cool with it, meh. But the point is that it’s never really far from my thoughts and I guess in some way it is what’s helped to shape my personality. I’m more of a Doors fan than say a three doors down fan.
I read books that usually put me in a position of contemplating death (on any scale) as opposed to love novels and I like my affairs to be pretty much in order at all times. I hate loose ends because I can’t imagine having someone cleaning up after me.
There’s a Jim Morrison poem that goes:
Those who race toward death
Those who worry
and those who wait
When you think about death
do you lose your breathe
or do you keep your cool?
Would you like to see the Pope
on the end of a rope
Do you think he’s a fool?
One guy I work with had only seen one dead body in ten years. I seem to get at least that a WEEK. It’s my own fault though, I really have absolutely no emotional reaction to a dead body so I volounteer for morgue runs; can’t hurt to carve out my own little niche!
I’m curious about death in that I want to see what happens next, even if it’s nothing. But I’m not scared or waiting or anything really. It’s just such a non-issue with my psyche for some reason.
I have bouts of insomnia where I contemplate the horror of dying and the sadness of endings. I wonder if I’ll go first or if my wife will suffer without me.
I wonder if it would be better to be killed instantly, so that there is no pain; or if dying slowly and getting ones affairs in order is the better way to go. Do I want to become an empty shell of my former self in a nursing home, or do I sign a directive to stop them from trying heroic measures to keep me alive?
I’ve seen enough death. My mother died when I was fourteen. My best friend committed suicide while I was a senior in high school. I spent a lot of time at my grandmother’s house, where several of my relatives lived- aunts, uncles, cousins- and this last summer the last occupant of that house passed away. I lost something I will never get back.
The good thing to come out of this is that I spend a little more time talking with my father, and I try to keep my sons close. I spend too much time alone every day, and even though I appreciate the time we do have together, I feel so alone most of the time. Dying alone scares the hell out of me.
I’m not ready to die, and I’d love to get over this. I try to keep busy with life so that I don’t feel death’s cold hand on my shoulder, but it’s there. Not impending, but inevitable.
Sometimes I wish I could have faith to comfort me, but he price is too high.
Mad Hermit, the fact that you realize that life is precious and happiness is now…that’s the silver lining of thinking about death. The people who bounce along thinking about what they’re going to have for lunch may be missing that.
Yeah, I think about it every day. Sometimes it can be a real hindrance—I won’t drive anywhere unless it’s absolutely necessary because I don’t want to get in a car accident, for example. My husband and friends had to spend nearly six months talking me into going to Italy because I was absolutely terrified and certain something horrible would happen and I would die. Nothing happened at all, obviously.
… Soon, soon, all too soon
Light passes from this room behind our eyes.
Cut off in mid sentence, perhaps uttering the final truth.
Or more likely, peevishly demanding some small comfort …
A talisman to carry into the dark.
In all honesty I don’t worry about my own death (except in a selfish - I won’t be able to collect my pension way) I worry far more about my parents and grandparents deaths. And to a lesser extent (because it is less inevitable) my brothers and nieces.
I don’t think about death very often. But on those ocaasions that I do, I worry more about how I will die. I want it to be a painless exit. When I see some old people suffering from the damning effects of age, I get scared. Sometimes I wonder why they do not take an ovedose of sleeping pills and just let go? Is it so difficult to commit suicide even when conditions are so ugly? I don’t imagine it will be difficult for me to take those pills and pass away in sleep without pain. Why would I want to stick around when my brain stops functioning normally?
I think about it all the time. My husband’s health isn’t good.
If I sit down here too long and he doesn’t come down, the mean little voice in the back of my head says, “Something’s wrong.”
When he sends me an icq at work, there goes the voice. “Something’s wrong. Something horrible happened.”
I clutch that to me, at times, as if thinking the worst will protect me from it.
It shows up in other areas, too. I’ll cross a street and think, “Oh no, what if I fell and oncoming cars didn’t see me?” “What if I lost control of the car and flew off this bridge?” “What if I choked on this cough drop?” “Would my husband be okay?”
It’s irrational. Of course he could die. It’s true. He’s a likely candidate for sudden cardiac death.
Oh crap. I’m crying. I should never open threads like this.
Several times a day. But I think of death as the logical conclusion to life (not as mundane a statement as it seems). I’m not afraid of death, nor do I believe in an afterlife. I think the most valuable part of life is that it does not last forever. Sort of comforting.
