Last week, while simmering in the discontent of what is claimed to be entertainment, I continued my search on YouTube for something provocative. The antidote to the mind numbing trash that leaves me feeling like I’ve wasted an hour of my precious life was “Coming Home”. As I listened to the stories of people's near death experiences, I felt at peace, joy even that our souls transmute back to perhaps where they came from, and remain eternally connected to the entirety of consciousness.
I began planning my funeral in 20’s to resemble that of a royal wedding complete with a dress code. No fatal illness or disease as my motivation, just a deep desire to show my friends and family, how much I love them.
My spiritual journey has strengthened since the pandemic and evolved into embracing all human experiences leading me to believe that the experience of suffering is in our minds and hearts. I comforted my beloved niece Kelsey (21), who had lost her roommate and teammate Mia to stage four kidney cancer with the quote by Winnie the Pooh “How lucky we are to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard”. It is this, the letting go, that brings the ache and the tears. To cherish this physical existence in it’s entirety, the glow of evening light caressing the fall leaves, the smell of wet dirt after the rain, the smile of a stranger, the warmth of two bodies entangled so close they feel the intensity of life’s vital spark, an exchange of unrestrained laughter between friends who’s hearts expand beyond their bodies tickling anyone around them, one cannot help but long for more. Knowing of the inevitable end makes me relish even life’s mundane and melancholy moments. It excites me to think of haunting those who weren’t always kind to me and delighting my loved ones with messages from the great beyond.
My anxiety is very high. It was never high until 9 years ago, at age 54, I had a widowmaker. My dad died from one when I was 6 months old. My half sister died from one when I was 25. I, luckily, happened to be in a hospital at the time of the heart attack. There was rushing and security guards moving visitors out of the way as the staff ran me down to the surgical theater -- but I survived. I'm one of 12%. I felt pretty darn lucky after that. Then, last year I had a seriously overdue colonoscopy. When I woke up my daughter was crying and the doctor told me I had cancer. He sent me to an oncologist who agreed with him. I went to a surgeon who told me they would not know anything until they did surgery and a pathologist made a determination. I was glad because I didn't FEEL like I had cancer. I had no problems that I knew about. Then I felt like I was in denial and I should get used to it. I tried really hard to talk myself into it -- but for some reason, just couldn't. one week later, I had the surgery and they took out the tumor thing as well as a little of my intestines. Path report came back negative. No cancer.
I cannot tell you how traumatizing that entire experience was! I started seeing a therapist pretty quickly because I was not handling it well. I was sooooooo angry. I finally got my self back to some sort of normal and what happens? I have to have my "year after" colonoscopy. It panics me. My therapist is wonderful and I zoom with her once a week -- I will even be able to talk with her from the surgical holding room (I checked) - and of course I'm going to a different physician this time.
I am truly afraid of dying -- because I don't want to leave. I've had a helluva great life and had loads of fun and I don't want to leave! Great Essay, by the way!!
Actually I visited a spot in a large plaza where concrete covered a former mass grave site.
I take very little as certain and rely upon—but not believe absolutely—what appears to be most probable based upon available information. Yet, I recognize that bias creeps into almost all information.
This was such a thoughtful and timely read. I've faced the Grim Reaper twice. Cancer both times - the first time Ovarian in 2003 , the second time, colon in 2011. But it's been a minute since then. And since then, I have been living like there's no tomorrow in every effort to put as much distance between that time of looking over the precipice and now.
But at 68, I'm feeling that I'm losing ground, feeling the inevitable making gains on me once again. So many things are beginning to slow me down and take the 'run' out of me, including friends that are falling by the wayside with diagnosis, two of which I've heard about in the last 2 days.
A vague melancholy casts a pall over even all that is so good in life for me now. It's like, I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I mean, I just can't seem to live in denial that I too will succumb to my failing flesh.
Having started writing my memoir this last year casts yet another spotlight on this truth...
Sigh.. it makes me sad, of course. I just hope I'll find a way to be graceful about passing on to whatever's next when my time comes (if there is a next) and not make it harder than it has to be. I've seen enough people resist their death and enough who didn't. I'd rather be one of the latter ones.
Wow, Jody, you have survived some things! congrats!
Even at 59 and pretty healthy I get that “failing” thing. Like I’m good but I’ve slipped a bit, and I think part of getting older is taking your eye off the long future and being in denial, and somehow finding kernels of acceptance about what is real. I think we have to find some middle ground where we stay enthralled and in wonder at al of it while allowing ourselves to stay in the moement and ride whatever comes. So easy to say, so hard to do. what’s happening to you sounds real and healthy. Thank you for sharing this, you’ve given me a lot to think about. :)
Yah, well, I appreciate posts like yours that compel me to consider things that are "up" that I might otherwise prefer to keep my blinders on about. Better to live an examined, conscious life, even if I am a little late in the game! ;-) THnxx mucho to you and all you bring to the table! 👀🙏🏻
I’ve been very curious about death for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it scared/scares me, but after a really bad year with three different opportunities to face my mortality, I came to realize I fear suffering more that death itself. Losing my mind, extreme pain, long drawn out dying process, isolation (bc people usually can’t bear to stick close when people are dying)… that stuff terrifies me.
I used to believe in heaven, or nirvana, or that my consciousness might continue in some way, and that gave me comfort. But now I doubt that. The best I hope for is that my existence will be held in the memory of creation, and that my body might be good food for a tree.
Rather than terrified, my death makes me profoundly sad. This life is so f’ing sweet, no matter the challenges and awfulness that thread through it. It’ll be devastating to have to let it go.
That is very kind. I want you to know that my purpose in writing this book is not that people agree with me. I raise these issues so people think about them, and how systems work, and then form their own opinions. I think we don;t think enough about what other peple are going through and so my hope isn't to change you or any one else, but to rasie issues that might make people think and re-think. Bedding down with your book tonight. I think it's so cool how mnay people here have written books and great essays and now I have to get reading!
Last year I took a year-long training titled "One Year to Live" based on the book by Steven Levine. It was through a Buddhist retreat center near where I live, but the meetings once a month were literally hundreds of people from all over the world meeting virtually, some who left us while we were in the training. Then a small group meeting in person once a month (locals, for me 6 women, all of us compatible). 15 years ago I held my husband as he took his last breath, and I think it was then that my fear of death left me. It was such a peaceful, calm, natural event that seemed very much a part of life. I will turn 87 in a few days. I have several physical issues that could result in my keeling over at any minute, and yet after a long and interesting life (I give it 5 stars even with challenges like addiction, divorce, depression) I am publishing my second book after just publishing my first last July. I write weekly for my Substack "From There to Here" and still have a modest psychotherapy practice, play the piano (I trained as a concert pianist, and try to keep the arthritis knobs from taking over), have grown daughters who are definitely making the world a better place as are my adult grandchildren. I aim to squeeze every last drop of living as long as I'm alive, and so far things are looking pretty good. Love your article, and think it's a good idea to think of death a lot. Karen Salmonsohn has written a wonderful book titled "Your To-Die-For Life." Check it out. Suggestions like write your own obituary: how do you want to be remembered, what do you want your legacy to be? And when you get clear on that, you can start from here to shape a life that will give you that obituary!
Oh Patricia! I love all of this and you are a gem! I subscribed and need to buy your book. Yours is the life I want to have at 87. Beautiful. Still vital, content, inspired and still working, lots of connection to the world, family, friends. Lovely. You inspire me!
On Sunday, I entered the last year of my 70s. 80 looms, well, in a little under 12 months. I was REALLY afraid of dying when I turned 40, but having beaten that self-absorbed prognostication, the specter of death - or rather, the fear of it - has greatly diminished. I do worry that if heavy doses of pain meds will be necessary that I might start blabbing about secrets I’ve long held. That could be embarrassing.
Okay, so I want to be right next to you on your deathbed and hear all those tawdry secrets. LOL
I feel like we should have the 60 year olds counsel the folks in their late 50s. The last of the 60’s folks would get advice from the 70 year olds. 80 year olds would advise the late 70’s people, etc etc. LOL
My DABBS scores are low. As I get older (I'll be 71 next month) and my quality of life diminishes (I'm living with multiple chronic ailments) death becomes less frightening; I'm pretty sure most of my accomplishments are in the past.
Family history indicates that I could well live for another two or three decades, but the health histories of those relatives also predict that such longevity would be accompanied by senile dementia and fecal incontinence. OTOH it is also possible that AI assisted medical research will extend life and quality of life to an extent that is barely fathomable. I hope for the latter but expect the former.
I think a lot of the anxiety isn’t just death, the final moments, saying good bye, but like a dip into confusion, dementia, weird bodily things happening, seeing the losses over time. I am happy that as you age, it seems to be more real and natrual and less about just existential worry about nothing.
But maybe you have accomplishments in front of you, they just look different?
Beautifully-written, deeply-introspective piece. More as I ingest it more slowly. As you read my book, you'll understand why your condition lives not in me. Live life! We are meant to (among other things).
I am 74 and happy to say that I no longer fear death. I was very afraid of dying until I hit my 70s but then things changed. After having moved from East to West when I was in my middle 50s, I realized that maybe I should consider moving back to the East (lots of fires and lack of water in the West). The move has definitely been a roller coaster but as a person who has been self reflective for my entire life, the last 2+ years have been a time for understanding how truly remarkable life is and in my own small way, how truly remarkable my life has been. I have been interested in Native American culture and belief for over 30 years. I believe there is more out there and I welcome the opportunity to experience it when it happens.
I'm definitely afraid of dying. Some days I can't even process how it could possibly happen to me. Other days I'm incredibly grounded in the reality of it, especially having recently lost a 39-year-old cousin to cancer. The first time I remember feeling death anxiety was after watching the film version of Charlotte's Web, when I was about 7. I remember lying in my bed sobbing. My elementary school teacher called my mom sometime after to let her know that she was worried about how much I was worrying about it. Sigh. Lately I've been deeply feeling this powerful truth-- that loss is the other side of love. Like two sides of the same coin. So grateful to have loved so powerfully, and already mourning the losses to come.
Also, another thought: I don't want my death to be sad for people. Like, poor Kim. aww, eva was such a good person, she didn't deserve this. A death pity party. I want people to be like: "She was a force! It sucks for us, she's gone, but man when she was here it was cool!" If someone shakes their head mournfully about my situation, I might come back to life and haunt their asses.
I’m so happy you made me laugh reading your comments, Kim! So, so happy. Life is to be lived fully and hell yeah, I don’t want a pity party either. Let there be singing, dancing, enjoying art, food, and community together in the wake of my passing!
Fuck, Eva! You have me blubbering over here reading this. Yes, loss is the other side of love. And it is so good to be loved and to love, and so we have to enbrace the loss, even though it feels interminable. Dammit.
But honestly, you and I, we are different. We aren’t going anywhere for a long time. LOL. Look at me, consoling us with fiction! Love you. xo
I loved the bakeries in your city. I must confess, I didn’t like style of blood sausage I had there. Besides that, every thing else was magical including The Blue Danube constantly playing in head.
I was intrigued when I started reading, wondering how old you were.. (sorry, not being a native speaker I am compelled to use correct grammar, lol).. the first time in my life similar thoughts about the finite nature of my life - unfortunately English lacks a beautiful alternative to the German “Endlichkeit”.. viscerally entered me at around 60, when suddenly we the decades ahead of us start shrinking.. my “Todesangst”, or fear of death, again German provides a perfect expression, seems to come in phases. I don’t mean the abstract kind, with which I can deal intellectually, even emotionally. I mean a visceral kind of fear which I experienced very strongly this last Summer and Autumn until recently.. a kind of depression that entered my very bones and manifested not only in a complete lack of motivation and “joy de vivre”, but in constant thoughts of funeral arrangements, worry about how my little grandson will be able to deal with the loss of his “nonna”. I am used to dealing with bouts of depression and sadness and have accumulated quite a toolbox to deal with it, but this time, at 79, it took me months to shake it off. Like you, I live a healthy (European) lifestyle, have survived cancer and the loss of a kidney at 70 and have every reason to be thankful and optimistic.
A dear friend of mine who did a lot of hospice work thinks these phases are necessary because in our western cultures we live too much in denial of death, and that they prepare us spiritually for the inevitable. Take care, anna (from Vienna)
I’m at an age similar to yours when another trip around the sun will be completed on December 10.
I have been to Vienna and stood on the spot Mozart buried. Is schornenstadt a word? Ich furgesse mein deutch do to lack use. Please. Do not laugh. 😊. ♐️♐️♊️
I highly recommend the Substack site Death and Birds by Chloe Hope. She writes in hauntingly beautiful way about death.
well, actually the exact spot where Mozart was buried is not known..
long story, don’t want to delve into it here.. you probably visited the site where a sort of memorial was built, in the old Biedermeier cemetery called “Marxer
PS, Vienna is the answer to my trick question to fellow Americans: who created the croissant? Created when a small Polish Army ambushed the Ottoman troops besieging Vienna. Thus, pastry shaped like the Turkish Crescent. I’m guessing you knew that but most Americans do not.
My mother was murdered. I would prefer not to go out that way. After AmeriKKKans decided to vote for a pedophile three times, I’m fine with dying. I wouldn’t have kids in this era either, but that ship sailed in 2004 & 2007. I’m a complete cynic which I try to hide from them.
1. I distinguish between dying and being dead. When dying, of course I prefer to not be in great pain. Also, I do not want to be a burden. I plan to enjoy the beauty around me, to continue learning about the myriad things I’m curious about, to continue working to be a better person.
2. If I’m dead, I will not know it, just as I know nothing about me before I was created. That lack of knowledge does not concern me.
3. I do not subject myself to the pernicious fear bullshit about hell from religions. I do not believe in either heaven or hell, even if Blood Sweat and tears sings they pray there is no hell.
So, I do not fear death because it only means I will no longer exist. It means to find wonderment in my life while alive.
I must confess, Trump and MAGA and Christofacists makes my journey to being a person I can respect more, more difficult.
Have faced death twice (cancer, both expected to be terminal. I don’t know why I was so lucky to survive).
1st time aged 33, with young kids so was terrified of not being there for them.
2nd time aged 55 - they were young adults so I felt calm about going.
Now a healthy nearly 80. Absolutely clinging on for dear life! 😂
This is so timely and beautifully written.
Last week, while simmering in the discontent of what is claimed to be entertainment, I continued my search on YouTube for something provocative. The antidote to the mind numbing trash that leaves me feeling like I’ve wasted an hour of my precious life was “Coming Home”. As I listened to the stories of people's near death experiences, I felt at peace, joy even that our souls transmute back to perhaps where they came from, and remain eternally connected to the entirety of consciousness.
I began planning my funeral in 20’s to resemble that of a royal wedding complete with a dress code. No fatal illness or disease as my motivation, just a deep desire to show my friends and family, how much I love them.
My spiritual journey has strengthened since the pandemic and evolved into embracing all human experiences leading me to believe that the experience of suffering is in our minds and hearts. I comforted my beloved niece Kelsey (21), who had lost her roommate and teammate Mia to stage four kidney cancer with the quote by Winnie the Pooh “How lucky we are to have something that makes saying goodbye so hard”. It is this, the letting go, that brings the ache and the tears. To cherish this physical existence in it’s entirety, the glow of evening light caressing the fall leaves, the smell of wet dirt after the rain, the smile of a stranger, the warmth of two bodies entangled so close they feel the intensity of life’s vital spark, an exchange of unrestrained laughter between friends who’s hearts expand beyond their bodies tickling anyone around them, one cannot help but long for more. Knowing of the inevitable end makes me relish even life’s mundane and melancholy moments. It excites me to think of haunting those who weren’t always kind to me and delighting my loved ones with messages from the great beyond.
My anxiety is very high. It was never high until 9 years ago, at age 54, I had a widowmaker. My dad died from one when I was 6 months old. My half sister died from one when I was 25. I, luckily, happened to be in a hospital at the time of the heart attack. There was rushing and security guards moving visitors out of the way as the staff ran me down to the surgical theater -- but I survived. I'm one of 12%. I felt pretty darn lucky after that. Then, last year I had a seriously overdue colonoscopy. When I woke up my daughter was crying and the doctor told me I had cancer. He sent me to an oncologist who agreed with him. I went to a surgeon who told me they would not know anything until they did surgery and a pathologist made a determination. I was glad because I didn't FEEL like I had cancer. I had no problems that I knew about. Then I felt like I was in denial and I should get used to it. I tried really hard to talk myself into it -- but for some reason, just couldn't. one week later, I had the surgery and they took out the tumor thing as well as a little of my intestines. Path report came back negative. No cancer.
I cannot tell you how traumatizing that entire experience was! I started seeing a therapist pretty quickly because I was not handling it well. I was sooooooo angry. I finally got my self back to some sort of normal and what happens? I have to have my "year after" colonoscopy. It panics me. My therapist is wonderful and I zoom with her once a week -- I will even be able to talk with her from the surgical holding room (I checked) - and of course I'm going to a different physician this time.
I am truly afraid of dying -- because I don't want to leave. I've had a helluva great life and had loads of fun and I don't want to leave! Great Essay, by the way!!
Actually I visited a spot in a large plaza where concrete covered a former mass grave site.
I take very little as certain and rely upon—but not believe absolutely—what appears to be most probable based upon available information. Yet, I recognize that bias creeps into almost all information.
Death ... Ooph... and wow..
This was such a thoughtful and timely read. I've faced the Grim Reaper twice. Cancer both times - the first time Ovarian in 2003 , the second time, colon in 2011. But it's been a minute since then. And since then, I have been living like there's no tomorrow in every effort to put as much distance between that time of looking over the precipice and now.
But at 68, I'm feeling that I'm losing ground, feeling the inevitable making gains on me once again. So many things are beginning to slow me down and take the 'run' out of me, including friends that are falling by the wayside with diagnosis, two of which I've heard about in the last 2 days.
A vague melancholy casts a pall over even all that is so good in life for me now. It's like, I'm always waiting for the other shoe to drop. I mean, I just can't seem to live in denial that I too will succumb to my failing flesh.
Having started writing my memoir this last year casts yet another spotlight on this truth...
Sigh.. it makes me sad, of course. I just hope I'll find a way to be graceful about passing on to whatever's next when my time comes (if there is a next) and not make it harder than it has to be. I've seen enough people resist their death and enough who didn't. I'd rather be one of the latter ones.
Wow, Jody, you have survived some things! congrats!
Even at 59 and pretty healthy I get that “failing” thing. Like I’m good but I’ve slipped a bit, and I think part of getting older is taking your eye off the long future and being in denial, and somehow finding kernels of acceptance about what is real. I think we have to find some middle ground where we stay enthralled and in wonder at al of it while allowing ourselves to stay in the moement and ride whatever comes. So easy to say, so hard to do. what’s happening to you sounds real and healthy. Thank you for sharing this, you’ve given me a lot to think about. :)
Yah, well, I appreciate posts like yours that compel me to consider things that are "up" that I might otherwise prefer to keep my blinders on about. Better to live an examined, conscious life, even if I am a little late in the game! ;-) THnxx mucho to you and all you bring to the table! 👀🙏🏻
I’ve been very curious about death for as long as I can remember. Sometimes it scared/scares me, but after a really bad year with three different opportunities to face my mortality, I came to realize I fear suffering more that death itself. Losing my mind, extreme pain, long drawn out dying process, isolation (bc people usually can’t bear to stick close when people are dying)… that stuff terrifies me.
I used to believe in heaven, or nirvana, or that my consciousness might continue in some way, and that gave me comfort. But now I doubt that. The best I hope for is that my existence will be held in the memory of creation, and that my body might be good food for a tree.
Rather than terrified, my death makes me profoundly sad. This life is so f’ing sweet, no matter the challenges and awfulness that thread through it. It’ll be devastating to have to let it go.
“How lucky we are to love something so much it makes saying goodbye so hard” - Winnie the Pooh.
I promise, I will. Ordered your book tonight. Excited to read it.
That is very kind. I want you to know that my purpose in writing this book is not that people agree with me. I raise these issues so people think about them, and how systems work, and then form their own opinions. I think we don;t think enough about what other peple are going through and so my hope isn't to change you or any one else, but to rasie issues that might make people think and re-think. Bedding down with your book tonight. I think it's so cool how mnay people here have written books and great essays and now I have to get reading!
Last year I took a year-long training titled "One Year to Live" based on the book by Steven Levine. It was through a Buddhist retreat center near where I live, but the meetings once a month were literally hundreds of people from all over the world meeting virtually, some who left us while we were in the training. Then a small group meeting in person once a month (locals, for me 6 women, all of us compatible). 15 years ago I held my husband as he took his last breath, and I think it was then that my fear of death left me. It was such a peaceful, calm, natural event that seemed very much a part of life. I will turn 87 in a few days. I have several physical issues that could result in my keeling over at any minute, and yet after a long and interesting life (I give it 5 stars even with challenges like addiction, divorce, depression) I am publishing my second book after just publishing my first last July. I write weekly for my Substack "From There to Here" and still have a modest psychotherapy practice, play the piano (I trained as a concert pianist, and try to keep the arthritis knobs from taking over), have grown daughters who are definitely making the world a better place as are my adult grandchildren. I aim to squeeze every last drop of living as long as I'm alive, and so far things are looking pretty good. Love your article, and think it's a good idea to think of death a lot. Karen Salmonsohn has written a wonderful book titled "Your To-Die-For Life." Check it out. Suggestions like write your own obituary: how do you want to be remembered, what do you want your legacy to be? And when you get clear on that, you can start from here to shape a life that will give you that obituary!
Oh Patricia! I love all of this and you are a gem! I subscribed and need to buy your book. Yours is the life I want to have at 87. Beautiful. Still vital, content, inspired and still working, lots of connection to the world, family, friends. Lovely. You inspire me!
Thanks Kim. It’s a great adventure! Enjoy!
On Sunday, I entered the last year of my 70s. 80 looms, well, in a little under 12 months. I was REALLY afraid of dying when I turned 40, but having beaten that self-absorbed prognostication, the specter of death - or rather, the fear of it - has greatly diminished. I do worry that if heavy doses of pain meds will be necessary that I might start blabbing about secrets I’ve long held. That could be embarrassing.
Okay, so I want to be right next to you on your deathbed and hear all those tawdry secrets. LOL
I feel like we should have the 60 year olds counsel the folks in their late 50s. The last of the 60’s folks would get advice from the 70 year olds. 80 year olds would advise the late 70’s people, etc etc. LOL
You may have to explain to my 4 kids that mothers aren’t always perfect. 🤩 (Tell my hubby, too! 🥴)
ha ha ha ha ha they probably will just think "Mom was a bad ass!"
My DABBS scores are low. As I get older (I'll be 71 next month) and my quality of life diminishes (I'm living with multiple chronic ailments) death becomes less frightening; I'm pretty sure most of my accomplishments are in the past.
Family history indicates that I could well live for another two or three decades, but the health histories of those relatives also predict that such longevity would be accompanied by senile dementia and fecal incontinence. OTOH it is also possible that AI assisted medical research will extend life and quality of life to an extent that is barely fathomable. I hope for the latter but expect the former.
I think a lot of the anxiety isn’t just death, the final moments, saying good bye, but like a dip into confusion, dementia, weird bodily things happening, seeing the losses over time. I am happy that as you age, it seems to be more real and natrual and less about just existential worry about nothing.
But maybe you have accomplishments in front of you, they just look different?
Beautifully-written, deeply-introspective piece. More as I ingest it more slowly. As you read my book, you'll understand why your condition lives not in me. Live life! We are meant to (among other things).
Yes, always remind me to live life!
I am 74 and happy to say that I no longer fear death. I was very afraid of dying until I hit my 70s but then things changed. After having moved from East to West when I was in my middle 50s, I realized that maybe I should consider moving back to the East (lots of fires and lack of water in the West). The move has definitely been a roller coaster but as a person who has been self reflective for my entire life, the last 2+ years have been a time for understanding how truly remarkable life is and in my own small way, how truly remarkable my life has been. I have been interested in Native American culture and belief for over 30 years. I believe there is more out there and I welcome the opportunity to experience it when it happens.
I'm definitely afraid of dying. Some days I can't even process how it could possibly happen to me. Other days I'm incredibly grounded in the reality of it, especially having recently lost a 39-year-old cousin to cancer. The first time I remember feeling death anxiety was after watching the film version of Charlotte's Web, when I was about 7. I remember lying in my bed sobbing. My elementary school teacher called my mom sometime after to let her know that she was worried about how much I was worrying about it. Sigh. Lately I've been deeply feeling this powerful truth-- that loss is the other side of love. Like two sides of the same coin. So grateful to have loved so powerfully, and already mourning the losses to come.
Also, another thought: I don't want my death to be sad for people. Like, poor Kim. aww, eva was such a good person, she didn't deserve this. A death pity party. I want people to be like: "She was a force! It sucks for us, she's gone, but man when she was here it was cool!" If someone shakes their head mournfully about my situation, I might come back to life and haunt their asses.
I’m so happy you made me laugh reading your comments, Kim! So, so happy. Life is to be lived fully and hell yeah, I don’t want a pity party either. Let there be singing, dancing, enjoying art, food, and community together in the wake of my passing!
Fuck, Eva! You have me blubbering over here reading this. Yes, loss is the other side of love. And it is so good to be loved and to love, and so we have to enbrace the loss, even though it feels interminable. Dammit.
But honestly, you and I, we are different. We aren’t going anywhere for a long time. LOL. Look at me, consoling us with fiction! Love you. xo
No
Tell us more. How did you get there?
I replied to this but it is not here. I’m getting more and more sick of Substack and thinking it is just wasting my time.
yep.. although the typical Viennese Kipferl is different from the fluffy croissant, which is taking over bakeries here as well…
I loved the bakeries in your city. I must confess, I didn’t like style of blood sausage I had there. Besides that, every thing else was magical including The Blue Danube constantly playing in head.
I was intrigued when I started reading, wondering how old you were.. (sorry, not being a native speaker I am compelled to use correct grammar, lol).. the first time in my life similar thoughts about the finite nature of my life - unfortunately English lacks a beautiful alternative to the German “Endlichkeit”.. viscerally entered me at around 60, when suddenly we the decades ahead of us start shrinking.. my “Todesangst”, or fear of death, again German provides a perfect expression, seems to come in phases. I don’t mean the abstract kind, with which I can deal intellectually, even emotionally. I mean a visceral kind of fear which I experienced very strongly this last Summer and Autumn until recently.. a kind of depression that entered my very bones and manifested not only in a complete lack of motivation and “joy de vivre”, but in constant thoughts of funeral arrangements, worry about how my little grandson will be able to deal with the loss of his “nonna”. I am used to dealing with bouts of depression and sadness and have accumulated quite a toolbox to deal with it, but this time, at 79, it took me months to shake it off. Like you, I live a healthy (European) lifestyle, have survived cancer and the loss of a kidney at 70 and have every reason to be thankful and optimistic.
A dear friend of mine who did a lot of hospice work thinks these phases are necessary because in our western cultures we live too much in denial of death, and that they prepare us spiritually for the inevitable. Take care, anna (from Vienna)
I’m at an age similar to yours when another trip around the sun will be completed on December 10.
I have been to Vienna and stood on the spot Mozart buried. Is schornenstadt a word? Ich furgesse mein deutch do to lack use. Please. Do not laugh. 😊. ♐️♐️♊️
I highly recommend the Substack site Death and Birds by Chloe Hope. She writes in hauntingly beautiful way about death.
well, actually the exact spot where Mozart was buried is not known..
long story, don’t want to delve into it here.. you probably visited the site where a sort of memorial was built, in the old Biedermeier cemetery called “Marxer
Friedhof” in the 3rd district 😄
PS, Vienna is the answer to my trick question to fellow Americans: who created the croissant? Created when a small Polish Army ambushed the Ottoman troops besieging Vienna. Thus, pastry shaped like the Turkish Crescent. I’m guessing you knew that but most Americans do not.
well, true, but our Kipferl is of course more of a brioche type, even dryer, not as fluffy as a croissant which is taking over here as well..
My mother was murdered. I would prefer not to go out that way. After AmeriKKKans decided to vote for a pedophile three times, I’m fine with dying. I wouldn’t have kids in this era either, but that ship sailed in 2004 & 2007. I’m a complete cynic which I try to hide from them.
Arrrgh. This happened to me once when I was responding in comments. Exasperating!
Let me see if I can recreate my answer.
1. I distinguish between dying and being dead. When dying, of course I prefer to not be in great pain. Also, I do not want to be a burden. I plan to enjoy the beauty around me, to continue learning about the myriad things I’m curious about, to continue working to be a better person.
2. If I’m dead, I will not know it, just as I know nothing about me before I was created. That lack of knowledge does not concern me.
3. I do not subject myself to the pernicious fear bullshit about hell from religions. I do not believe in either heaven or hell, even if Blood Sweat and tears sings they pray there is no hell.
So, I do not fear death because it only means I will no longer exist. It means to find wonderment in my life while alive.
I must confess, Trump and MAGA and Christofacists makes my journey to being a person I can respect more, more difficult.