Sixteen years ago, when I turned sixty-four, I realized my life was divided into four sixteens. Now at eighty I’ve added one more, which makes five. I can’t imagine number six, which would make me just four short of a century. THAT probably means not firing on all cylinders, both physical and mental, deafness, incontinence, recurring if not constant pain, and the increasing dependence of a Grumpy Old Man.
Then again, in the Beatles’ song which I rewrote, “Now I’m 64”, I actually said that I looked forward to “sixty-four more”! In fact, I didn’t expect to hit even four-score. As the man said as he shot past the 23rd floor on his way down from the top of the Empire State, having already passed eighty stories : “So far, so good !”
Death is the ultimate, and ultimately personal, experience of Everyman, the end of life and of its least attractive feature, old age. Most people don’t joke about it. You can try to ignore it, do your best to postpone it, but it’s going to happen so why not look it in the face, accept it and get on with the rest of your life ? If you insist on believing in a life after death, and find comfort and meaning in that, that’s your choice. I prefer “That’s All, Folks “.