I’ve been thinking about death lately. I just turned 68. I’m very healthy for my age, but there’s no denying I’m on the downward side of the rollercoaster. Most of my years are past me, and the grave looms larger with every year that passes. I don’t like to sugarcoat death with thoughts like I’ve lived a good life” or “I still have several good years ahead of me.” The fact is, I hate death and everything about it. I hate the anticipation and the finality of it. I hate that so many people I’ve known are gone forever.
My immediate family is all gone. I miss Sundays in Brooklyn when my mom would cook the best pasta in the world, and I would go buy Italian bread. I would always go to Cangiano’s on 68th and 3rd because they had an oven on the premises. The bread was hot out of the oven, and I would always buy two loaves because I would rip off chunks and eat them on the way home. I miss football with my dad, and the Tyree helmet catch that won the Super Bowl for the Giants. I miss my sister’s quotes about cute animals. She would hold her dog Gigi’s face to me and say, “She happens to be one.” My mom’s love of games shows. Knockdown screaming religious and political debates with my dad that always ended with “What should we have for dinner?” All gone and gone forever. No more Christmas and Thanksgiving dinners; all gone.
Death can be sudden, but it can also be excruciatingly slow. To watch my dad deteriorate from this towering figure of strength and power to a frail old man who needed my help was absolutely horrible. It’s not a fear of death as much as an absolute disdain. In general, society can compartmentalize death and move on, but I don’t want to do that. I want to call it out for what it is. Death really, really sucks, and there is no getting around it.
I know that some people don’t necessarily mind death. There are organizations (such as Antinatalism) that believe we should voluntarily move the human race to extinction because if we add it up, the bad far outweighs the good: https://aeon.co/essays/having-children-is-not-life-affirming-its-immoral
Even if that were true, I can’t wrap my head around it because the good times have been so good that I would never sacrifice them, no matter how much suffering there is. I miss so many good times with the women I’ve loved and the friendships I’ve had. Even the most recent good times leave me feeling forlorn. Google Photos sends me email snapshots of last year’s Christmas and birthday, and I’m blindsided by the sudden sadness that those moments are in the past and that there are fewer ahead of me than behind me. The forlornness then becomes passionate anger.
For many years, I’ve used the Song of Solomon verse, “For love is as strong as death, its jealousy as unyielding as the grave,” when speaking at funerals. Why? Because I want it to be true. I know that death is inevitable, but I don’t really know if love lasts beyond the grave. Still, I want it to. I have too much faith in the good times to believe that death is the end.
Frederick Buechner’s book “The Gospel as Truth, Tragedy, and Fairy Tale” claims we grow up believing in fairy tales and lose that belief as adults. There is no tooth fairy or Santa Claus. But the gospel is a fairy tale that has come true. The prince really does rescue the princess, and they do live happily ever after. There is a God in heaven who rescued us from this sinful world of death and destruction, and we will live happily ever after. Death cannot be final. Man, I hope it’s true!