We live in a rainbow of chaos. -Paul Cezanne Chest pain on the road down the valley. I raise an eyebrow. Could be a thing. My first thoughts of slamming into a tree after a massive heart attack are of Violet. They’re in the backseat (don’t ask me why) and I don’t want to hurt them. My second thoughts are pain. I would rather die without pain but I have no idea if that is a choice or even a possibility. In many ways, the grand finale ought to hurt at least a little, I think. Smooth cool exits don’t seem to fit the bill, do they? Death should sting a bit. A hundred wasps. A lightning bolt to the eye socket. You feel a rushing breeze but then it blows up your nose and moves harder and harder around your heart cavity until you feel the surreal sense of your own existence crushing your ticker like a ripe summer peach.
“I want to live.” Just about the most powerful statement one can make after acknowledging the pain and emotional scars that wreck havoc with a life. To want to live is an act of defiance, and you laid it all out beautifully.
I think about dying. A lot. Just turned 63 two weeks ago. I figure I have 20/20+ years left. I hope. I really do. I don’t want to be some old debilitated husk in a wheelchair at 88 or 89 or whatever, but I can’t conceive of not being here. Not yet at least. But I do understand — intellectually — that there an end date waiting for me somewhere on the future. I (likely) won’t be here in 30 years. Which is in itself a small lifetime. I don’t feel as old as I thought 63 was/would. I mean, McCartney wrote “When I’m 64” imagining life at that age as being one of puttering and doddering, and he’s still rocking at 81, so anything’s possible. Right? I should have a checkup. It’s been a few years. And because I’m adopted and have very little info about my biological family/my genetics I sometimes worry what might be in store. I get tired a bit easier than I used to. Is that age or some arterial blockage I really should get addressed? I tell myself I’ll make an appointment, but can never find the time. And then I have some strange pain or sensation and think “yeah, I really need to get that checkup”. And then don’t. Until then next pain/sensation. A dear friend passed in her sleep about a month and a half ago. Sudden. Unexpected. Young woman. Late 50s. Vital. Working musician. Ran her own successful label in Boston. No medical concerns I’m aware of. We’d been roommates (non-romantic variety) when I first moved to Boston back in 1985. I hope she went painlessly. Just blinked out like a light being switched off. I think after a lifetime of pain and bullshit (and I don’t care who you are, we’ve ALL suffered pain and bullshit even if we’ve had relatively “happy” lives) we/you/I have earned a peaceful farewell. That’s how I’d prefer it to be. Quick. Quiet. No lingering illness bullshit that your kids/loved ones have to suffer through, that will make their fuzzy memories fade into resentment. Anyway, that’s my preference. When I think about it. Which I do more these days. Because somewhere along the line I crossed my personal halfway mark. Lived across 62 anniversaries of my death-to-be. Fuck it. Stop and smell the roses. Today. Right now. Peace out, my man. Hope this week is better.
Really enjoyed everything about this one. I was following your post this week on FB. It takes real strength share the truth that's in your heart, especially when you know it will not be understood by many. Keep speaking your truth.
Love your writing. This line is what I now live and hit me like a gut punch after 40 years of doing whatever I loved to do. No more. Reality. "Every payday doesn't end up with you singing Danny Boy on a fuckin bar at 2am
“I want to live.” Just about the most powerful statement one can make after acknowledging the pain and emotional scars that wreck havoc with a life. To want to live is an act of defiance, and you laid it all out beautifully.
I think about dying. A lot. Just turned 63 two weeks ago. I figure I have 20/20+ years left. I hope. I really do. I don’t want to be some old debilitated husk in a wheelchair at 88 or 89 or whatever, but I can’t conceive of not being here. Not yet at least. But I do understand — intellectually — that there an end date waiting for me somewhere on the future. I (likely) won’t be here in 30 years. Which is in itself a small lifetime. I don’t feel as old as I thought 63 was/would. I mean, McCartney wrote “When I’m 64” imagining life at that age as being one of puttering and doddering, and he’s still rocking at 81, so anything’s possible. Right? I should have a checkup. It’s been a few years. And because I’m adopted and have very little info about my biological family/my genetics I sometimes worry what might be in store. I get tired a bit easier than I used to. Is that age or some arterial blockage I really should get addressed? I tell myself I’ll make an appointment, but can never find the time. And then I have some strange pain or sensation and think “yeah, I really need to get that checkup”. And then don’t. Until then next pain/sensation. A dear friend passed in her sleep about a month and a half ago. Sudden. Unexpected. Young woman. Late 50s. Vital. Working musician. Ran her own successful label in Boston. No medical concerns I’m aware of. We’d been roommates (non-romantic variety) when I first moved to Boston back in 1985. I hope she went painlessly. Just blinked out like a light being switched off. I think after a lifetime of pain and bullshit (and I don’t care who you are, we’ve ALL suffered pain and bullshit even if we’ve had relatively “happy” lives) we/you/I have earned a peaceful farewell. That’s how I’d prefer it to be. Quick. Quiet. No lingering illness bullshit that your kids/loved ones have to suffer through, that will make their fuzzy memories fade into resentment. Anyway, that’s my preference. When I think about it. Which I do more these days. Because somewhere along the line I crossed my personal halfway mark. Lived across 62 anniversaries of my death-to-be. Fuck it. Stop and smell the roses. Today. Right now. Peace out, my man. Hope this week is better.
Really enjoyed everything about this one. I was following your post this week on FB. It takes real strength share the truth that's in your heart, especially when you know it will not be understood by many. Keep speaking your truth.
Love your writing. This line is what I now live and hit me like a gut punch after 40 years of doing whatever I loved to do. No more. Reality. "Every payday doesn't end up with you singing Danny Boy on a fuckin bar at 2am