…that life is fucking pointless and cruel, but also filled with gorgeous moments…
Brock Little’s death has me kind of bummed today, which is surprising since I didn’t know him. Saw him around Haleiwa once or twice, that’s it.
Sure, he was the charger my entire childhood, a guy I, everyone, looked up to. But I’m not usually wired for mourning. I think that when we die it’s straight into the void, may as well have never existed. Which is a prick thing to say in this context, because Brock as so well liked and admired and a lot of good people are really hurting after losing him.
Life is just so fucking pointless and cruel. For a guy like him to be undone by his own body, still super young, lickety-split, out of nowhere… I mean, the same thing could happen to any one of us at any time.
Life is just so fucking pointless and cruel. For a guy like him to be undone by his own body, still super young, lickety-split, out of nowhere… I mean, the same thing could happen to any one of us at any time.
I’ve dealt with my own mortality a few times over the past couple years, but not really on that level. Serious tones from a doctor, “You could die,” ain’t the same as “You’re going to.”
But laying in a hospital bed with tubes coming out of you and a virulent infection coursing through your bloodstream, it’s fucking terrible. Not really because death is bad, it’s coming for us all. But life is just so damn full of gorgeous moments, and I plan on having decades more.
I think that’s once you’ve really really really internalized the fact that you’ll eventually end the knowledge never truly goes away. You try to push it into the back of your mind, why deal with something unavoidable? Still there though, you’re gonna die.
I’ve mentioned before that my 89-year-old landlady lives on the property. She’s a great woman, awesome neighbor. I try to help her out where I can. At that age something as simple as moving a twenty pound bag is nigh impossible. For me it’s nothing.
She took a spill a month or two back. Pretty bad, tripped over her own feet, ended up with seventeen staples in her forehead. Otherwise she was fine, and remarked that she was just glad she didn’t break her hip. She’d seen it happen to friends, after that it’s just a slow decline then death.
Which makes it so much worse when she fell last week. Called the wife and I for help, we ran her to the ER, they sent her home the same day. Then she fell out of bed, called again.
A broken pelvis and seven broken ribs, and if I’m being honest with myself I know it’s pretty much the end for her. Healing injuries that bad take forever, you lose all your muscle, it’s a trial to get back. And at the tail end of your ninth decade there’s not much you can do. No real chance to weight train, when you’re frail at best even a minor injury is serious.
And, fuck, I’ve been hurt before, I know how terrible it is, but to know you won’t ever get back to form is so damn awful. It’s easy to say, yeah, she’s had a long full life. Big loving family, hospital room packed chock full of flowers and balloons. But she’s not a stupid lady, she knows what’s in store.
Not that you can choose your end, quick while you’re young and strong or slow when your old and feeble, but you can hope. I guess I’d hope for old and slow.
I don’t know what the take-away is here.
Just try to live in the moment. We’re all due our share of misery, try and make magic happen when you can.
You’ll either see it coming or you won’t, and one day it’ll be over.