How do you like your blue-eyed boy, Mr. Death?

Do not go gentle into that good night!
Rage-rage 'gainst the dying of the light!
- D. Thomas

"You know what I hate? I hate it when they die in batches. That always brings me back to my own mortality." That, said an acquaintance the other day, was in reference to a funeral we'd both attended on Saturday.

A lot of death has been happening lately. I don't like it because, like my friend, it brings me to my mortality. I've attended two services in the last month. Then yesterday a former colleague bought the proverbial. Hmm, things happen in threes, n'est ce pas?

Albeit all the 'late' gentlemen were considerably older than I am and, in the case of one, he led for many years a lifestyle which, while not to be envied, probably was a lot of riotous fun thirty years earlier, though ridiculously ill-considered once he reached pensionable age. That, alas, didn't seem to deter him.

Do not, dear reader, misconstrue the message of these musings about the hereafter, for I am not feeling especially morbid, I was just struck by not only the fact that each demise of someone we care about diminishes us all a little bit, but that we are also forced to look at ourselves in mortal context. I think, to be honest, that frightens the shit out of me. So, periodically I ask myself, exactly what is it that we (as in 'I') find scary about shuffling off this mortal coil? Everybody since the beginning of time has died, even the most nervous individuals. So, are we afraid of pain? Well, when death actually comes, pain goes away. For me, there are two things that chasten me. One, I have a lot of people whom I deal with to greater or lesser degrees, whom I love and cherish in the most ridiculously warm-hearted way. I don't want to leave them. The other element of death disquietude is that there remain many, many things I would like to do, and many, many places I want to visit. Finally, it astonishes me that it has all transpired and passed so quickly. I consider my age and think, "That can't be right. I must have lost a couple of decades somewhere, and once I find them again, I can sigh with relief in knowing it was all just a dream." But, I know that isn't so. I know that many years have passed despite the fact I sometimes think I just graduated from high school or lost my virginity a couple of weeks ago. No, in answer to a question that might have popped into your mind, both didn't happen on the same weekend, by the way, despite pleading entreaties on my part. In fact, if you'll indulge testosterone-driven braggadocio, the virginity thing happened (ahem!) four years earlier.

But, back to death. I have realized it doesn't do to look and ponder how many years ahead I might have because that drives me to think -- let's say I give myself 30 -- of what I was doing 30 years ago. Not good. Memories are still fresh. That was 1976, for God's sake. The Beatles had already broken up years before that, and John Lennon would be shot only five years hence.

Maybe none of this is good. On the other hand, the daffodils and tulips are in full bloom, and spring is a time of rebirth. There, that feels better.