When I was doing my masters degree, we were talking about death (one of those topics you always end up with - no irony intended) and what scared me most was the "not being", which Lucretius says shouldn't bother you -- you didn't exist for most of history and you didn't worry about that. But now I know what it's like and I never want it to stop! It's glorious (life, I mean)! The professor, June Sturrock, directed me to Philip Larkin's Aubade (which means "morning song") which expressed exactly what I feel. It's a lovely, terrible poem and does address that terror that he finds somewhat alleviated, but never cured, by the coming of the morning. Take a look at it.
Most things may never happen: this one will,
And realisation of it rages out
In furnace fear when we are caught without
People or drink.
My buddy from Kelowna did some internet searching and found an obituary for an old boyfriend of mine who called me on my thirtieth birthday and whose phone number I lost and so, couldn't phone back. I've always felt guilty about it, because he didn't have a very easy time of it (of course, a lot of his troubles were self-inflicted, but they're hard to bear, no matter how they come) and I certainly didn't intend to be a source of sadness or regret for him. The obituary was very sad -- it was short and didn't say much about what he had done with his forty three years and said he was survived by some siblings and "several friends". I am picturing him now because Myrna sent me a photo of him to go with the obituary. He was a thoughtful, gentle person and I wish I could talk to him once more and tell him about how I wanted to phone him back and tried to find out where he was after my carelessness about losing his number.
Rikki, don't lose that number
It's the only one you own
You might use it if you feel better
When you get home
(That's a song by Steely Dan)
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