Death Becomes Us All

I live content with the knowledge I will be eulogized better than I deserve.

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           It's remarkable how reliably our standing-in-life improves upon being buried. Scoundrels become saints. Misers become prudent. Nasty characters of all sorts become decent souls who have been sadly misunderstood. 

          Good people happily stay good.

          Whole lifetimes are redeemed by being nothing more than out-of-the-way. There are 

few perks to aleve the weary troubles of expiring years. Surely, being absolved at death for all wrong-doing is a big one. 

          There are other perks (benefits) of aging that come before final exit. Only old-people read or write about any of them. The history books are full of examples. They range from good, to bad, to redundant. 

          Emerson wrote a good example in his June 7, 1864 reflection on aging: 

          "Old age brings along with its ugliness the comfort that you will soon be out of it - which ought to be a substantial relief to such discontented pendulums as we are. To be out of the war, out of debt, out of the drought, out of the blues, out of the dentist's hands, out of the second thoughts, mortifications, and remorses that inflict such twinges and shooting pains - out of the next winter, and the high prices, and company below your ambition - surly these are soothing hints. And harbinger of this is sleep, which muzzles all these dogs for me every day"

          He added: "Within, I do not find wrinkles and used heart, but unspent youth". 

          I feel the same. Old age has freed me from day-to-day travail. I now have time to think and do what hurry and uncertainty kept me from before.

          I wrote a little before I retired; now I write a little, daily. To what end, I've no concern. Writing has allowed me to structure my vague impressions into better considered impressions. That's reward enough to keep me writing. If someone else finds something useful in my writings, that's bonus. 

          I've settled-in to pleasant simplicity. My days are quiet and uneventful - which suits me fine. Almost every surprise I've ever had was unpleasant. Mundane calm is much better. Calm days don't require scrambling about, or medical attention. 

          Simplicity guides my elder years in all ways. I'm no longer required to do much. I'm no longer required to do what I'd rather not do at all. So, I don't. Saying, no, is problematic for the young. Saying, no, for an old codger like myself is much easier. It’s one of the blessings of getting older.

          I live lightly, with no desire for more of anything. I live content, with the knowledge I will be eulogized, not quite as saintly, but certainly better than I deserve.

          Death becomes us all.

By K. L. Shipley

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