End Game

  By dying, I have made peace with death.

  I spent my childhood terrified of dying. My  chest tightened as I panicked of a world in which I would be no more.  I’d lie in bed and think “These eye will see death”. In my seven year old egocentric  universe, my death would be the ultimate tragedy.

Now, I am not so sure

I have entered the End game, hanging between Erik Erikson’s  stage  7, Creativity  versus  stagnation ( the blog…) and  stage  8, Ego Integrity versus despair. I  remain optimistic  I will  improve , but that’s really my method of managing the uncontrollable.  I almost died a 2 and a half years ago. This was a blessing , really, because it occurred  during the 2016 elections. I was spared the agony that all of you went through, watching a madman  gain control of this country

         The last time I died, though,  felt like the real thing.  A slow graying out of the edges, a indifference  to the outside world, an acceptance of the inevitable.  I have  already been dead  for 14.8 billion years, and I weathered  that period pretty well. I suppose the next 14.8 billion years will pass as pleasantly.

         I am a Jew, we don’t believe in an afterlife.   The very idea sounds so narcissistic, that our lives are so precious as to be preserved forever. Nabokov  pointed out that  heaven would become hell for anyone who  lost a spouse and then remarried.  Then all three would spend eternity with at least one  person miserable.

But that isn’t the point. The point is  that  I have been given a gift,  I have been able to  pass through death and return to  this world. Death wasn’t all that bad.

         My revered father in law  felt it important to tell us  in his final weeks  he was not afraid to die, that his beloved was also gone  and his time was at hand. At the time, I thought this was his bravado, his courage at  facing mortality. Now, I understand he was  gently telling us youngsters that a time would come when Death would not be a  transcendental tragedy.

         It’s  amazing what one can get used to. I have the same story that all  medical  students have, of meeting their horrified  mummified corpse  in general anatomy and finally growing comfortable to be alone in the dissection lab at 2 AM in a room full of bodies.

I think of Michael Herr in Dispatches  who wrote “The only corpse I could not  bear to see would be the only corpse I would never have to."

I want to travel back to find that scared stupid child. I want to tell him that it’s OK, the person  who will die 60 years from now had a wonderful life.   I want to hug him and tell him that he will see wonderful things, he will love college, make love with women, travel the world, and  marry his true love . He will find in medicine a calling that will benefit  others and give him comfort and support

         I want to re assure his unbelieving eyes that death  will become a comforting friend some day,  and that, after years of distress,  death will float in, a  soothing Zephyr of tranquility.

 I want to tell him that  every one dies,  the good and the bad,  and that even in the future, there will be death, no matter how long  science can preserve our  consciousness.

 I remember a saying, but I’m not sure if it’s a joke or a Koan “ Live every day as if it’s your last, and one day you will be right.”