When your childhood dies . . . and beyond
By Phil Riske, managing editor | Rose Law Group Reporter
Death is a very dull, dreary affair, and my advice to you is to have nothing whatever to do with it. ~ Somerset Maugham
We kids used to rush home from school in time to watch “Mickey Mouse Club,” mostly to see (and fall in love with) Annette Funicello. Yesterday, my childhood died when I read Annette had died at age 70.
Today, I use her departure as a way to say that all too often we stick our heads in the sand and don’t discuss, to any deep meaning at least, the subject of death. It could be a way to deny our own demise.
Men in my age group commonly check their hometown obituary columns to see if anyone they know has died —sometimes before they check the sports pages.
I read recently where a late author had called friends ahead of time to ask them to be his pallbearers. It prompted me to make a list of my six best friends. The problem is two of them died in the past two years, and another called me this month to say he has terminal lung cancer.
Well, I really don’t want to be buried anyway. Too creepy. Having nearly burned to death when I was 15, I don’t think I’ll choose cremation.
As a college student, I had hoped to become a physician, and my goal was to be accepted at the medical school at the nearby University of Colorado. There might be the answer of what to do with my carcass: donate it to the anatomy lab at the university so future doctors can explore the amazing human body.
My apologies if this writing is too morose in its message we all must deal with the Grim Reaper in one way or another.
And at any age.
If my imaginary girlfriend, the beautiful and bigger-than-life Annette can die, I should get my head out of the sand.
As should we all.
