We don't all get to grow old...

I have just found out that a young man I knew (by sight and reputation, primarily) and worked with in NYC drowned a couple of days ago. He was strong in mind and body, had a strong character, worked hard, had many friends, and probably didn't spend his last few days doing anything you would choose to spend your last days doing if you knew the deal ahead of time. Perhaps he did. I don't really know. I do know that death is being prepared for everyone, whether hastily or on the slow burner, and we will all eat a full plate of it.

That reminds me of the movie 'Krull'. There was a character, a giant, a cyclops who had traded one of his eyes for the ability to see the moment of his death. I remember him being a rather sad individual, and it makes sense, if you suddenly have half the field of vision and it is fully dominated with images of your own mortality. I also remember the moment at which he departed to go and die, saying 'it is time'. I always wondered why he didn't just try to cheat.

Given all things, I could almost understand the appeal of suicide, trying to micromanage the end of your life, if I didn't have such a strong will to live. Who wants to go during the breast stroke on a long weekend when you're just trying to unwind and prepare yourself for the next thing? Why prepare? Why unwind? Why live? To me, it's the whisper of immortality through the curtain of my daily life. It doesn't pull me away from myself. It drives me, causes me to try to create some sort of permanent spiritual architecture out of my life. It makes me want to value something like time with a child, or a selfless act. It's the ultimate question, made arguably even more ironic for its being asked in a blog: Is anybody listening to my life, and what does that mean? My thought is that my former co-worker, and many others, regardless of whether we envy them or not, have found that answer.

for Renton, Bruce, Paige, et al.