Did you ever suddenly stop in your tracks and say "Holy shit, some day I'm not going to be here anymore!"?
I do that often. It creeps up on me out of nowhere, the realization that someday, I am going to die. And I'm ok with that, really. It's not like I can keep it from happening. But I find myself obsessing about not when I'm going to kick the bucket, but how.
Like most people, I would prefer to die peacefully in my sleep of old age. Ok, I don't want the old age thing if it includes Depends, a full-time nurse and an oxygen tent. I want that kind of sweet old age thing, where we go to bed at 9:00 one night and I take my last breath while dreaming of the wonderful day we just had. Just die right there, in the arms of my husband. Yea, not so great for him. But, hey, I'm dead. It's not my problem that he woke up cuddling a stiff, cold wife. This is my fantasy.
I don't want to go out in a fashion that would get me nominated for a Darwin award. With my luck, I'll somehow get my head stuck in a drain. And I don't want to make the cover of the local paper with a story that will turn into an urban legend someday. Woman killed by line drive at Little League game. Woman falls off table while doing tequila-induced strip tease at her wedding. That sort of thing.
I'm sure dying right after sex, maybe in the throes of an earth-shattering orgasm, would be a fine way to go. My family may never live it down, but the funeral director wouldn't have to worry about getting me to look at peace. With my luck, I'll die that way, but it will be one of those times when I'm wearing the french maid's outfit or a strap-on.
I'd rather not die violently. And who does, except for those people who go to the school of Death by Martyrdom and Explosives? But if I do go out that way, I prefer that it's in a blaze of glory. Maybe saving adorable school children from a burning bus or going down in a hail of gunfire after I try to choke Ashcroft to death.
You could spend all night laying in bed with eyes wide open, devising new and interesting ways to die. You could lay there like me, staring into the dark and imaging your car submerged in a muddy lake, or feeling the burning winds of a nuclear blast or a stun gun mishap at the hands of the FBI. You could dream up a million ways to die, and realize that no amount of planning can keep you from the fate that awaits you. I've heard of cardiac doctors dying of heart attacks. Or twisted fate stories like the health conscious fitness instructor getting hit by a car while jogging. The woman who sruvived a plane crash only to slip in the shower and crack her head open the following week. The man who survived a brain tumor only to be killed by his deranged neighbor over a borrowed lawn mower.
I accept the fact that I will die. I accept the fact that it will probably not be my fantasy death of peace and happiness, just dropping dead one day while I'm 90 years old, reading a comic book in my rocking chair. I just don't want it to be gruesome or embarassing to my family. Maybe I should lay off the tequila at my wedding.
How do you envision your death?