Are You Afraid To Die?

This is an interesting question for boomers as we cross life’s 50-yard line and move toward the end zone: are you afraid to die?

If you fear death, is it fear of pain, fear of loss of mental or physical abilities? Or do you fear missing out? Maybe you fear that life can go on without you.

I’m not especially afraid to die; I’ve had a pretty good, interesting and fulfilling life. But I truly want my life to continue forever. It won’t, of course. But how long do I, or any of us, have left?

And are we afraid?

How’s this for coincidence ... as I’m writing this during my lunch break at work, I stumble on a USA Today article about habits that can add years to our lives. According to the story, "the U.S. ranks 43rd in global life expectancy," with the average person making it to 80. What!? Eighty?! That’s less than twenty more years for me. I’m planning my 100th birthday party.

The article outlines some health habits that can add fourteen years. Hmmm, 80 + 14 = 94. That’s better but I’m afraid that’s still six years short of my goal.

One irony in all of this is that many of us don’t hit our stride till 50 or more. I’m at my career peak, doing a combination of things usually done by people half my age; and doing it well, better than at any point in the past. I fear the eventual end of that job more than the end of me.

We get to our fifties and sixties with more knowledge, skill and confidence. Then we retire. I’m afraid that full retirement, for me, is the beginning of the end.

Fear of missing out seems to be a popular reason for fear of death. There is so much more living left; things to do, places to go, people to meet; experiences to live and share. Grandkids to love and spoil.

I admit that my fear is more about the possible side effects of aging, like loss of mental or physical abilities. I watched the mental and physical deterioration happen to my parents in their eighties (Dad) and nineties (Mom). My mother lived to age 95, but her mental faculties diminished significantly during her last year. The last time I saw her, midway during that year, she didn’t know who I was. Both parents had mobility issues in their later years, which is quite normal. I am more afraid of those things than I am of dying.

Thinking this through does not lesson fear, but it does reinforce another belief that has been growing inside me for several years: live like you were dying. Basically, imagine you knew you were dying and only had a short time to live, and do those things you want to do and do them NOW, while you are healthy. Live for today. Or at the very least, focus more on the present. Think about it: we are all dying. And we really do only have a short time to live. Short can be three decades, three years or three days; none of those time increments are long enough.

The real question: are we afraid to live?