I’m glad the above Barbara Younger isn’t me, or I’d be dead.
And if that Barbara Younger were alive, she’d probably rather not be me. The obit goes on to say that Barbara Younger opened her home to students, faculty, and visiting scholars at UVA for forty years. I’m not that great of a cook. She might have been embarrassed, if she were me, when some of those visiting scholars tasted the pie crust.
I post this obit not to be silly or flippant. Have you ever googled your name and come up with an obit? Sobering!
Sobering, yes, but I am practicing dying.
I don’t mean that to be flippant either.
I have a feeling that accepting death will make the remaining years of life happier, and so I’m trying to make peace with the concept. Before age fifty-five, there was no way. But something hit me that year that made me think, well maybe, maybe it’s okay you don’t get to live forever on earth. (But only maybe.)
And so I want to work harder to appreciate the years I have left.
And I want to work harder to accept the terms of life. I didn’t exactly sign up for them, but fighting them seems of little purpose.
I wish I could ask the other Barbara Younger how it feels to be dead.
Maybe I’ll get to at a Behind the Pearly Gates Girlfriend Gathering. “Hi Barbara Younger! I’m Barbara Younger! What do you think of our name? A little plain, or nice and easy because people can usually spell it?”
But back to earth. How about you? No matter your age, how do you feel about departing this world someday?
Photo: You can read more about this lovely woman here.