I turn 73 later this year. The end is in sight.

I'm sure such a title could make somebody think this is another weepy personal story about a person trying to come to grips with their mortality and obsessing about the end of it all. Life is what it is, and death is an integral part of the human experience. There's nothing we can do about it; our only choice is to accept it. So, what else is there to say?

First off, I'm not obsessing about this. I recognise it is there, but I'm certainly not spending every day fretting over my demise. However, once in a while, I do take a moment to consider the inevitable.

About twenty years ago, I woke up in the middle of the night with terrible cramps. It felt like I had to defecate. I went to the bathroom and sat on the toilet. The next thing I knew, I was laid out on the floor. I had fainted and fallen off the seat. Fortunately, I had not hurt myself like whacking my head against the wall. I subsequently did some research and discovered this was not an unknown phenomenon. It had never happened to me before, but it has never happened again, so this was a strange one-off, not a sign of some underlying condition requiring medical attention.

I remembered sitting on the toilet. After that, nothing. It was a complete blank.

That's how I imagine death.

Over the years, I've liked to say I'm agnostic: I neither believe in God nor don't believe in God. I'm sitting in the middle; I suppose trying to leave all my options open. I've noted that many philosophers, theologians, and writers have tried to grapple with the question of our mortality. People like Blaise Pascal (Pascal's Wager) have argued there are more benefits to believing in God than not believing in Him. Who's right? Obviously, we have no way of knowing, so debating the issue will never conclusively prove things one way or another. And so, we should talk about the benefits of the here and now; the benefits while we are alive.

It is the final proof of God's omnipotence that he need not exist in order to save us.
-Peter De Vries, "The Mackerel Plaza," 1958

I've never read Mr. De Vries' book but was stunned by the implications of this quote. God isn't an entity; God is an idea. And it comes back to the benefits of God while we're alive.

I've thought long and hard about fainting. Suddenly, I stopped thinking. Suddenly, I ceased to exist as a conscious human being. I can't help feeling dying is going to be the same thing. I will stop thinking. The neurons will stop firing and the synapses which define my personality, my thinking, my logic, etc. will cease to exist. I will become nothing.

Here's where we run into God, Heaven, the afterlife. How can anybody conceive of nothing? How can the lack of anything be defined as something? From what I understand, some early cultures had no concept of zero and had no symbol to write that particular idea. Thinking of the De Vries quotation above, would anyone invent God out of an inability to imagine nothing? We must think of something. I'm discussing fainting in terms of having regained consciousness and being able to think about it. What if I had not regained consciousness?

Science explains that our body's cells are replaced. The person we are today is not the person we were yesterday, or last week, or when we were two years old. Fat cells are replaced every ten years, but the cells of the inner lining of the small intestine are replaced every week. The lining of the stomach changes every five days and red blood cells change every 120 days. The neurons of our brains do not divide, so this is more complicated. They may die off, but under certain circumstances, other brain cells will become neurons. The point is that we exist independent of our physical self.

Science fiction has presented us with the concept of teleportation. Our atoms are disassembled in one place and reassembled in another. Those atoms are not the same. The cells are not the same. However, the configuration of the neurons and the synapses are the same, and consequently, our consciousness is the same. SciFi is echoing the real-world situation of our current cell replacement by saying we exist independently of our physical self.

But I have a curious observation. I have a reading light beside my desk. It casts light across the desk and the entire room. Periodically, the bulb burns out. I click the switch, nothing happens, and I have to replace the bulb. The light bulb still exists, the glass, the filament, etc., it just no longer lights up. I throw it out, get a new one, and life goes on. The concept of light continues to exist even though the physical part of light - the blub - changes.

Regrets I have a few
This is where I burst into song à la Sinatra. I've been given to understand that older people tend to reminisce, reflecting on their lives, and assessing what they've done. I have regrets. But I also have things I'm embarrassed about. Stupid is as stupid does. Hold my drink. Fortunately, some things get buried in the past, fade with time, and memories forget. We are not forgiven; we are forgotten. Any 12-step program would advise to make amends, but sometimes the circumstances never present themselves, and it ends up not being a question of making amends with somebody you've wronged but somehow forgiving yourself and moving on. We carry our baggage around with us for the rest of our lives, and it can be a heavy load.

I'm tired.
Uncle Bill lived until he was 101 years old. Quite a feat. However, he said to me on more than one occasion to not live beyond 85. A curious statement. But when I thought about it, 85 was when his physical problems started becoming overwhelming. Incontinence, macular degeneration in his left eye, inoperable cataract in the right eye leaving him with 50% vision, slow developing cancer in his right hip causing chronic pain, overall weakness of mobility requiring a motorized scooter. If you have quality of life, quantity of life can be a good thing. But when quality of life goes down, quantity then becomes more a question of stamina than enjoyment. If you remain healthy, why not continue? But if you're not healthy, you don't want to continue.

I've heard of the idea of being spiritually tired, lacking a will to live. I'm sure our physical condition plays a part in this, but I can also see us being unable to see how to navigate life. I've come to realise there's a part of me that thinks, "I'm looking forward to this being over." I'm not suggesting anything as dramatic as being suicidal, it's more a question of lifting a weight.

In 20 days, I will be celebrating seven years of retirement. - Congratulations to me. - Two weeks ago, I had lunch with an old colleague from work. We talked about the company, the current status of work, and the trials and tribulations of the business. I'm glad I'm out. The pressure never stops. Just as soon as you complete one thing, something else pops up. It never ends. At one point in my life, it seemed like a challenge. Now, it seems like an overwhelming burden. There seems to be no sense of achievement, for a new mountain to climb is just around the next corner. It never stops.

We become our parents; I'm turning into Uncle Bill. I have health issues at the age of 72. What am I going to be like when I'm 82? Heck, what am I going to be like when I'm 73? I've had some unpleasant surprises in the past ten years which now make me worry about every ache and pain. Is this a sign of some bigger issue?

Politics worries me, angers me, and exhausts me. I should stop paying attention. I should stop writing about it. I should give up and be ready to blithely say "Que sera sera" when they blow up the world. I sit here shaking my head; I can't believe what's going on. We are the authors of our own fate. I mention this because I feel powerless. We're all in the same boat, and I worry those people over there are going to sink the boat and take me with them. Kill yourself if you want, but I would suggest - no, I will demand you don't kill me too. Unfortunately, I'm powerless and can't do anything about any of this. I can only try to stay out of the line of fire.

"The strong do what they can and the weak suffer what they must."
-Thucydides (460–395 BC), Greek historian, general (The Peloponnesian War)

I had lunch with a friend a while back, celebrating our mutual milestone of 72 years of age. We joked that we were getting out just in time, that is, our lives were ending before they inadvertently, or should I say stupidly, take the Earth out in one final blaze of glory. Or is it gory? The next generation is in for a ride.

Final Word
I'm agnostic. I can't say with 100% that God exists or doesn't exist. But I have suspicions, and I suspect there's nothing. Never mind nothing being inconceivable, nothing also seems pointless. What is the purpose of the whole thing if in the end there's nothing? It doesn't seem like we've achieved anything, and that doesn't seem satisfying. Do I invent the afterlife because I'm dissatisfied with nothing?

I've jokingly said that when the end comes, I'm going to be on my knees, weeping for forgiveness, just like anybody else. I can write these words on a calm afternoon, sitting at my desk while sipping a comforting cup of coffee, but that doesn't mean anything I say now is going to provide whatever psychological or spiritual support I'll need when I take my final breath. Forgive me, Lord, for I have sinned. Pshaw. In the grand scheme of things, I am more insignificant than a grain of sand on the beach.

The bulb burns out. Throw it in the trash (recycling) and replace it. And replace it with something better: LED for incandescent.

I'm sure whoever comes after me - sure? I hope whoever comes after me will not make my mistakes, will be more successful, and will achieve more. That won't be as big a deal as you may think. I'm just average. That's pretty easy to equal and not difficult to surpass. Old joke: If you get out of bed in the morning, you're ahead of half the world.

As I look back on it all, I can't help feeling I've really not done much. I was born, I've lived, and I will die. If I hadn't been born, it would have had no effect on the world at all. I think I've wasted my opportunity. In retrospect, I was pretentious. I thought I was destined for greatness while it's turned out I've been at best ordinary. No Nobel Prize, no Oscar, no Pulitzer. Heck, not even a Guinness, but so far, luckily, not a Darwin.

My father was a good man. I'm sure anyone would say he was an ordinary man, but he was a good man. I've come to realise being good is quite the accomplishment. I have not always been good. In these later years, I try to make up for it, but when I look back on my life, I see a wasted opportunity. I could have done a much better job and accomplished more. Oh, well. This is where I joke, "Next time!"

2025-01-13

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