RIP: a little perspective-and a lot of Jack Daniel's

I said that mortality bites-and it does, at the strangest times. I've been feeling very vulnerable lately, and have been thinking about death and dying for a few weeks. The first "anniversary" of my cancer surgery was yesterday. One year on, I keep thinking I haven't accomplished anything. And-I'm still alive, so that is quite an accomplishment.

My friend Dani texted me on Wednesday morning-very early. She wrote that Arthur died late Tuesday night. So I called her at about 8am, figuring she would be awake. She was destroyed, really destroyed. They had been together for more than 25 years, and he was her entire life. She said that without him she is nothing. She didn't want to talk-couldn't-and asked me to leave communication until she felt well enough to ring me. She was grateful when I asked if she wants me to attend his funeral. And that was it-I couldn't keep calling when she asked me to leave her for awhile.

So I thought about death even more this week-my college roommate didn't call me the High Priestess of Angst and Rumination for nothing! Really-that nickname stuck for years. I really need to do something about changing that. Going through life wringing your hands isn't a good prescription for a happy life!

I was thinking about the terms we use for someone dying. I told someone yesterday that my friend's husband died-and she looked at me like I had just kicked her dog. We aren't supposed to say that, she said. She said that we should say they "passed".

Now really-passed? Passed where? Passed out? Passed her in the street? Passed go and didn't collect two hundred dollars (Google Monopoly if you don't get that!)? Then there is "passed over". Over what? A bridge? A pet? An obstacle of some sort? That's silly, at least to me. And-so and so "left". Where did they go? Did they leave town? The country? Did they go to Paris? New York? Cleveland?

People always say someone passed away (where is "away", exactly?), or some thing having to do with passing, and always in hushed tones, as if the earth will open up and swallow them if they seem disrespectful in any way. And my personal favorite is: "they shuffled off their mortal coil". Oh, please-what a load of Shakespearian pretentious crap is that? Give me a break, please!!

What is wrong with saying that someone died? They didn't pass away/pass/pass over/leave/snuff it/pop their clogs (unless they're Danish)/kick the bucket (is there a point to that? I ask myself). They died. Sorry. Boo hoo. One minute they were alive, the next minute they weren't. Very sad, but they're dead. Dani was weeping terribly, and I nearly started; I'm not heartless, just practical. All these euphemisms are really annoying. When I die, someone can say-she died. Oh, well...

Dani did text me yesterday to say that the autopsy showed that Arthur's heart just stopped. He had no clue, didn't suffer at all, went just the way she prayed he would. So I texted back and said that is good news (that he didn't suffer), and remember that I am here if she needs me.

Now, that is the way I want to go-but not for a very, very long time!! I'm not afraid of dying-it's pain and suffering beforehand that scares me. And what scares me even more is that I don't feel like I have really been living. My life for the past four years (and then some) has been more about survival (and surviving doctors!) than about thriving, and living, and enjoying myself.

I think that I would like some prior notice-say, a week-before I just keel over. That would be so great, if we all got to choose-make an appointment. Sorry, but a week next Thursday you are going to die, so do your laundry, tidy up, see your friends, etc. And finish the Jack Daniel's. Knock yourself out.

Every morning I wake at 5am-I've done that for years, always an early riser. And I move my head from side to side, roll my eyes, shake my arms, move my legs, move everything. I want to make sure I haven't had a stroke during the night. Hell, at my age, you can't be too careful.