Dying

Death has had a run at the news lately, with a slew of famous musicians paying the wages of their sins. Some people my age are kind of freaking out, watching the so-called icons of their youth pass, reminding them that youth is done and death, or old age anyway, is approaching. They're passing mostly from cancer. When they're 70 and up, though, cancer isn't much different from old age as a cause of death. Eventually, something gets us all. I still think I'll join the choir invisible by falling down the stairs, probably after stepping barefoot on some grandchild's Lego.

Meanwhile I am stunned to learn that my friend, whom I've never met but whom I consider a friend, suffered the death of his wife recently, after saying exactly nothing about her, or his relationship with her, or her condition, over the many years we've participated in blogging. Beyond any natural feeling of concern and wishing for him whatever eases his grief, we are reminded that all of these people just out of reach, celebrities and bloggers and so on, are yet real people with real lives undergoing continuous change, filled with all the highs and lows of real life. None of us are much like we seem through the flattening media through which we are known. There is so much more. SO much.