Since learning the sad news that Christopher Hitchens, one of my favorite writers, is suffering from cancer, reading his articles, watching interviews with him on the subject (the latest of which is here), and even coming across the subject during my research project, I have been thinking a lot about mortality. This may seem like a macabre idea to dwell on but the news of Hitchens' condition only illuminates the idea that were are all, essentially, on borrowed time (if you will forgive the cliché). Now I do not wish to simply rehash some of the theological points that I made in a similar post last year, but to take a more personal approach to the concept of mortality.
I have been very fortunate in my life so far in one respect: that I have not yet experienced the death of someone very close and very dear to me. I have, to further this point, never actually attended a funeral. I honestly do not know how I would react or behave at such an event. There have been instances of death in my life but I have been either mentally or physically distant from such encounters. My paternal grandmother, I am told, died while I was alive but because I was so young I did not attend the funeral and do not have any recollection of her. My cousin's first husband very sadly died during my first year of university. Although I was very fond of him, my physical distance from the event and subsequent inability to attend the funeral still managed to play a role in my isolation from the issue. When my now step-dad's father died I was, again, at a physical distance so all I could do was observe the effects the loss had on his family and try to provide some sort of emotional support whenever it was needed. It is because of this lack of experience that really cannot anticipate how I would react to losing someone really close to me.
The prospect of Christopher Hitchens dying will be a real first for me, considering that I have not even experienced the death of a famous person that I genuinely admire. But I do not wish to ring a knell for Hitchens just yet. Obviously I still hope that advances in medicine will prolong his life while eliminating the most of his pain. The way he is dealing with such an objective mind is very admirable, and it makes me consider how I would face the subject of my own mortality.
Death itself holds no fear from me at all. I feel quite comfortable in saying that. Having said it, however, I would like to point out that the prospect of dying does scare me. The process of dying is never something that is pleasant, it holds no real dignity, and it will probably constitute unimaginable pain. There is, I believe, a distinction to be made between the two concepts. Death is the idea of being dead, dying is the process by which one arrives. It is the process that is the scary part for me. I do not, for instance, give any credence to the idea that there is a life after this one. I could well be wrong about that proposition (I am, after all in the lucky minority of people who have lived on this planet who has not yet died), but I have yet to hear a convincing argument in support of such a concept.
The parts about death that do worry me concern its aftermath here on Earth. To paraphrase Hitchens, the idea that I will someday leave the party which will continue in my absence is frustrating to say the least (although being told, regardless of how good the party was, that I could never leave would instantly make it less enjoyable). I wonder about the scientific advances that will be made after I am no longer around to appreciate them. I wonder about the novels that will be written, the films that will be shot, and the Presidents that will be elected. The frustrating thing is that I know there is nothing I can do which will allow me that knowledge, but at the same time I accept that the same rule is true of everyone.
On a more selfish level, I wonder if I will be remembered. If so, by how many people and for how long? Some people live forever through their work, writing or achievements (and I imagine that upon reading this you already have brought several examples to mind so I will not insult you by listing any), but how long can I expect to be remembered before I am just another statistic?
While I appreciate that death is rarely a good thing, I would like to think that mine would produce some help. I am too young to think of making a will, but in the spirit of the limited span that a mortal coil offers I would like to think that after I expire, anything and everything from my body that could benefit the living be stripped out immediately. I have no problems with any part of my future corpse being harvested for the benefit of others, whatever part of it that it may be. Once my body been as useful for parts as it possibly can be, then whatever is left can be cremated or disposed of in whichever way seems appropriate. I have no wish for a headstone or memorial, and have no desire for my remains to be scattered anywhere in particular (to me it just seems like littering). I realize this may be starting to sound morbid but I am trying to approach the inevitable (and it is the only thing in life that really is an inevitability) with as objective a mind as possible.
Mortality is a fascinating subject. It inspires people to perform acts of great good and great evil. It can also inspire (if that is the correct word) total apathy and atrophy. Talking about it is something that I actually find comforting, in an odd way. I continue to hope that I am fortunate enough to delay the first hand experience of dealing with mortality for a long, long time. That said, I know that one day I will have to. It is the ultimate irony of life that no one gets out alive.
I have been very fortunate in my life so far in one respect: that I have not yet experienced the death of someone very close and very dear to me. I have, to further this point, never actually attended a funeral. I honestly do not know how I would react or behave at such an event. There have been instances of death in my life but I have been either mentally or physically distant from such encounters. My paternal grandmother, I am told, died while I was alive but because I was so young I did not attend the funeral and do not have any recollection of her. My cousin's first husband very sadly died during my first year of university. Although I was very fond of him, my physical distance from the event and subsequent inability to attend the funeral still managed to play a role in my isolation from the issue. When my now step-dad's father died I was, again, at a physical distance so all I could do was observe the effects the loss had on his family and try to provide some sort of emotional support whenever it was needed. It is because of this lack of experience that really cannot anticipate how I would react to losing someone really close to me.
The prospect of Christopher Hitchens dying will be a real first for me, considering that I have not even experienced the death of a famous person that I genuinely admire. But I do not wish to ring a knell for Hitchens just yet. Obviously I still hope that advances in medicine will prolong his life while eliminating the most of his pain. The way he is dealing with such an objective mind is very admirable, and it makes me consider how I would face the subject of my own mortality.
Death itself holds no fear from me at all. I feel quite comfortable in saying that. Having said it, however, I would like to point out that the prospect of dying does scare me. The process of dying is never something that is pleasant, it holds no real dignity, and it will probably constitute unimaginable pain. There is, I believe, a distinction to be made between the two concepts. Death is the idea of being dead, dying is the process by which one arrives. It is the process that is the scary part for me. I do not, for instance, give any credence to the idea that there is a life after this one. I could well be wrong about that proposition (I am, after all in the lucky minority of people who have lived on this planet who has not yet died), but I have yet to hear a convincing argument in support of such a concept.
The parts about death that do worry me concern its aftermath here on Earth. To paraphrase Hitchens, the idea that I will someday leave the party which will continue in my absence is frustrating to say the least (although being told, regardless of how good the party was, that I could never leave would instantly make it less enjoyable). I wonder about the scientific advances that will be made after I am no longer around to appreciate them. I wonder about the novels that will be written, the films that will be shot, and the Presidents that will be elected. The frustrating thing is that I know there is nothing I can do which will allow me that knowledge, but at the same time I accept that the same rule is true of everyone.
On a more selfish level, I wonder if I will be remembered. If so, by how many people and for how long? Some people live forever through their work, writing or achievements (and I imagine that upon reading this you already have brought several examples to mind so I will not insult you by listing any), but how long can I expect to be remembered before I am just another statistic?
While I appreciate that death is rarely a good thing, I would like to think that mine would produce some help. I am too young to think of making a will, but in the spirit of the limited span that a mortal coil offers I would like to think that after I expire, anything and everything from my body that could benefit the living be stripped out immediately. I have no problems with any part of my future corpse being harvested for the benefit of others, whatever part of it that it may be. Once my body been as useful for parts as it possibly can be, then whatever is left can be cremated or disposed of in whichever way seems appropriate. I have no wish for a headstone or memorial, and have no desire for my remains to be scattered anywhere in particular (to me it just seems like littering). I realize this may be starting to sound morbid but I am trying to approach the inevitable (and it is the only thing in life that really is an inevitability) with as objective a mind as possible.
Mortality is a fascinating subject. It inspires people to perform acts of great good and great evil. It can also inspire (if that is the correct word) total apathy and atrophy. Talking about it is something that I actually find comforting, in an odd way. I continue to hope that I am fortunate enough to delay the first hand experience of dealing with mortality for a long, long time. That said, I know that one day I will have to. It is the ultimate irony of life that no one gets out alive.
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