But This Time I’m Keeping My Damn Mouth Shut About It

On August 28th, 2021, I happened to be pleasantly surprised to learn that Ed Asner was still alive, and said as much to L’s Mother.

He died the next day.

Now I am not saying that I somehow drew the Universe’s attention upon Ed Asner, but today, without thinking, I looked up another star and was pleased to see that they were still alive . . .

Who Ya Gonna Call For Something Like That?

My new end of life goal is to be the guy contemplating a gravestone in a graveyard at midnight so that when somebody asks me what I’m doing I can sigh and say, “I just can’t get over how they spelled my name wrong.”

This Is My LEAST Dark Thought Today

I don’t mind getting older, but I do mind watching more and more people that deserved more time and a better life not get either.

“Natural Causes”

I’m never sure quite how to take it when I read someone died from “natural causes.”  “Natural causes” . . . what does that even mean?

I mean, beyond a certain point, if you shoot someone enough times it becomes unnatural for them not to die, right?

It Was Either “King of the Rocket Men” Or “Radar Men From the Moon”

Yesterday we had another one of those “We all knew it was going to happen someday, but it happening today was still a bit of shock” deaths in the family.  At times like that there’s a detached part of me that always takes interest and observes my unfiltered reaction to such news.  This time around my first reaction was “I hope he enjoyed that stupid movie I got for him one of the previous times he was in the hospital.  I never did get around to asking . . .”

But I really hope you did, Earl.

Sláinte!

I’m Pretty Sure That’s Not What Most People Are Going For

Lots of people hope to make their mark on history, but I doubt too many people dream of news of their death being the start of a humongous street party . . .

The Literal Truth

Strange thought to round the week out, but despite the way I talk sometimes, I don’t literally expect to be chosen and guided by a beautiful Valkyrie when it’s time for me to die.

That doesn’t stop me from hoping, of course . . .

I’ll Catch ‘Em If He Cleans ‘Em

Following up on yesterday’s mention on the subject of the dearly departed, what prompted that thought was yesterday I told my son that I “no longer have a grandfather,” and was promptly corrected by someone adding, “not here, he means.”

Strictly speaking, I have no objection worth mentioning to that statement, which is why I maintained my silence at the time, but it did bother me in a way it took me until today to be able to verbalize.

I’m not qualified to unequivocally speak on the enduring nature of the human soul, for lack of more precise term, and if my grandfather’s spirit does endure somewhere, I hope he is well and knows how much I honor his memory, but I stand by my statement that I no longer have a grandfather until the day he and I can go fishing together again.

So Tread With Care And Respect

In fiction, as in real life, after breaking the news of the death of a loved one to someone, the question of “Did they have a ‘good’ death?” is frequently asked.  Depending upon who’s asking, ‘good’ is sometimes defined as “not suffering”, other times it’s defined as “brave”, and so on, but even the flat question of “How did they die?” almost always seems to come with the implied plea of “Please tell me something I can take even some small comfort from.”

Lying as necessary is expected from all but the most heartless in this circumstance; we all know this (And if you didn’t, you might want to have your heart checked.), but since we all know this, doesn’t that mean the person asking the question on some level knows this as well?

Yes, yes it does.

Well . . . Damn

The other day I was telling Lala about a novelty song writer and performer that I’ve long been fond of, even going so far as to find a few of her songs on YouTube for Lala to listen to.  After the second song Lala asked me an entirely reasonable question that I was completely unprepared for:

“Do you know what she’s doing now?” she asked.

“No . . .” I admitted slowly.  “Honestly I’m always kind of reluctant to look up people after a certain point.  I hate finding out they were brutally murdered in 2001 or something like that.”

“Well I’ll look her up then.”

A few moments later I could tell by the silence that Lala had found something.

“Well . . .” she said at last.  “She wasn’t brutally murdered in 2001.  It was a car accident in 2002.”