I’ve been rising before the sun is up for well over 30 years and am at my best first thing in the morning. Although I know it won’t prolong my life, I hope to maintain this schedule until I fade at last into the sunset.
Speaking of sunsets, my son recently informed his mother and me that he has no fear of death. We were at the supper table, discussing a Tucker neighbor’s sudden passing. At times like that I think it’s only natural to consider one’s own mortality. But my son would have none of it. At the ripe old age of 22, he doesn’t understand why anyone would waste time fearing the inevitable.
After my son went out for his evening walk, I found myself thinking about what he had said. It occurred to me, as it does more and more these days, that the benefits of bringing children into this world are not always sufficiently appreciated by those of us who bring them hither.
I was reminded of this a few weeks ago when reading something Maurice Sendak said about his advanced age — he’s 82 — and the uncertain state of world affairs. The author of “Where the Wild Things Are” questioned why people still have children. “I mean, why put kids in the world when the world is so insecure?” To which I would reply, because they often come to our aid when we least expect it.
That my son does not fear death was no real surprise to me. After all, I was once his age, like him possessed of a courage only the young can fully enjoy. Or as Joseph Conrad writes in “The Shadow Line,” “It is the privilege of early youth to live in advance of its days in all the beautiful continuity of hope which knows no pauses and no introspection.”
Hope can seem rather ephemeral, especially when someone our age passes away. We may find ourselves wondering how much, or little, life might still have in store for us. And even if it’s true that 50 really is the new 40, the road I’m on as I near 60 seems to have straightened out. The inevitable looks a good deal less theoretical than it did in my far-flung youth. The cold, hard facts, also known as aches and pains, will do that to just about any theory.
And yet, my son’s fearlessness gave me pause. I was reminded that much of what we do and believe and hope for is entirely dependent on our point of view. We can fear the inevitable, or we can simply wait for it to arrive. In either case, the mystery of life and death will remain a mystery.
When asked shortly before his death if he had prepared himself for the afterlife, Henry David Thoreau reportedly said, “One world at a time.”
Whether darkness or light awaits me is a question I can’t answer. If you think you know, keep it to yourself. Sooner or later I will have to face the inevitable on my own terms and would prefer to be surprised.
Rick Diguette lives in Tucker. Reach him at rick.diguette@gmail.com
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