Reflection on Seventy Years

I wrote this musing sitting in our garden in Cuba well before I was aware that Covid-19 would have its massive impact on the world order. Now I am sitting in mandatory isolation in my lovely home in Nova Scotia with my partner of thirty-eight years. Although this new reality changes little of what I have to say here, it does make one appreciate one’s chosen family, friends and neighbours all the more. It also makes me appreciate good, humane government.

I believe it is a judeo-christian writing of old that mentions that a person’s life span is seventy years. I know that bit of information is now thousands of years old. Things have changed and still are changing. However, as I am now approaching that ancient marker in my own life, it does cause one to reflect.

Death is not something that I fear. I must say this. In my early thirties death was all around me as another health crisis erupted. Friends and associates of my age were dying in the hundreds. And that was only the young men that I knew. My time was spent at hospital bedsides and in funeral homes. It was a terrible time; but it was a powerful one.

Personally, I became grateful for every healthy moment I had. I wanted to waste not one hour. I turned my back on complaining and embraced positive action.

Now friends of ours are dying from illnesses associated with living longer: cancer, heart and so forth. Some have died in tragic accidents. Death is unavoidable. If life has been good, then I feel one should not be afraid of it. For others who may have been less fortunate in the hand life has dealt them, death may be seen as an escape.

One does not have to believe in a “hereafter”. I do not. I do not know what, if anything, survives of our consciousness – our “soul” if you will. If something does, then there may be a new adventure waiting for us. If there is nothing, then it does not matter.

I miss those friends who have died. I miss particularly those from my childhood and adolescence who travelled life's byways with me into more advanced years. I name them here: Kim and Jeff.

Though older, they died too young. I miss those who died tragically in my youth: Jim, David and David, Darin, Sam, Gary, Al, Larry, Terry, Christopher, Wayne, Bill, Doug, Bryan, Tim, Tony, Bob, Richard and Robert. And I miss those who have died more recently, newer old friends: Karen, Vikki, Ross. And I miss my parents and friends of their age.

I try to live my life to honour especially those who never had the opportunity to grow old, and the ones who taught me to live with dignity and pride. I welcome my approach to my eighth decade. I am grateful for so much.