Happy New Year 2016! So Natalie Cole died today. At 65, this velvet throated song goddess fell off the face of the earth. Apparently plagued with health issues for months. Years. She “succumbed” to them and just left.
I obsess about death more often than most. I’m thinking that’s how it works. Born in a minute or two. Dead in the same. I mean the process of death can linger longer, but the actual act of dying is minutes. Seconds.
Seems somehow trite that we get this seemingly expansive chunk of time to work with. Time enough to pay bills. Fix things. Fix a few people. Create relationships. Drink coffee, beer and maybe wine. And sometimes we get to sing.
Mortality at my age is looming. Not on my lap mind you, but certainly in the same area. It’s like he’s staring at me from the very back of a doctor’s waiting room. Like a toddler who stares at a man with one leg. It’s cute. Innocent almost. Then easily distracted by a sudden burst of laughter or a bag of peanut M&Ms.
I often feel the need to constantly throw mortality a bone. A carrot. I’m always tirelessly thrusting images of me evolving. Growing. Learning. Of not just sitting on a sofa waiting to go. I subconsciously (or quite purposefully) want Le Morte to forget about me. Skip over me and move on to someone else.
And then I see. He does.