the Monday Musings column from that consultant bloke

I am about six weeks away from turning 72. My dad died aged 57, my mother staggered on until 88, so I am somewhere in between in terms of life expectancy, but the Grim Reaper has come calling three times in the last twelve years, twice in seven months, and has had a couple of earlier goes.

They talk about third time lucky, but I am a cat lover, so may be, in all of the bites and scratches over the years, I have been bestowed with nine lives. Whatever, I know that the last act of life is death, and it will come one day. I came to terms with that thirty years, or so, ago after an incident flying back from Scotland, and I am comfortable with it.

I am an atheist, so I have no belief in an afterlife. Whilst I tell people who marvel at my navigational skills that I was Vasco da Gamma in a previous life, I don’t believe in reincarnation either (anyway Vasco may have got about a bit, but he was lost most of the time), When I die that will be it: I’m out of here.

On that basis, death will be a release for my, I’ll have done my bit and won’t have to worry about anything any more. My dad died in great discomfort over a period of a year or more, my mum just gave up, a confused and frightened old lady in the grip of dementia. For both of the I was sad at losing them, but comforted by the thought that they were beyond more suffering. I hope that I don’t get to that stage, and just bugger off quietly and quickly.

Death affects those left behind. If I am right in my belief, then I will be gone, and, if there is anyone left who cares, the grief will be with them. How they cope with that is up to them and they can mark my departure in any way that they think is appropriate. I have a quick and easy disposal plan in place for my mortal remains already paid for, so if anyone wants to hold a wake, celebrate that I have finally gone, or whatever, they are welcome.

When I do shove off I have one request though: Please don’t let anyone say that I have passed. You can say that I have kicked the bucket, shuffled off, snuffed it, croaked, died, or any other expression than passing. I don’t know why, but it is an expression that just grates on me.

But then, I’ll be gone, so forget that last wish, I’m not going to know what you say, will I?