SHADOW OF DEATH
I’ve always known I was going to die, everyone knows they are going to die, we all know that every living thing dies. Or at least we know it for everything or everyone else. But suddenly this week I felt the shadow of death hovering over me and realized in my bones that I was going to die.
It is just a little ache in my back that started out ten days ago as a kind of painful spasm and then in the last ten days slowly (almost) went away. But the faint ache is still there and is a reminder that one day, maybe even today, a small ache will be the first indication that I have terminal cancer or some other terminal disease and am about to die.
At 85 people are dying all around me, some a little bit younger, some a little bit older. So it won’t be a surprise when it comes, and probably pretty soon.
But for the last few days the shadow of death, like a mournful vulture, has been sitting on my shoulder. And this is different somehow than the knowledge we all have that we are going to die. This is the actual grip of death that I feel, not physical death yet, but the total awareness of death. The feeling of being quite alive but feeling the presence of death, being one of the living dead.
I am not alone and there is nothing remarkable about my state of being. And I don’t feel it all the time. But this week for a day or two I felt the cold hand of death on my shoulder and felt stiff and immobilized.
BILLYBABA’S WANDERING 
I’m 81 and very familiar with this feeling. I live in a retirement center with about 150 people all of whom, along with all of the staff, have had the full five shots to prevent Covid. However, we have just had an outbreak and seven people have got it. Now we are all once again required to wear masks in the public spaces. This morning I awoke checking myself for symptoms. Like you, I’ve outlived all my siblings. I’m nearing the age where they and my parents all died so I know time is running short.
Incidentally, I live close to Bob Fleming here in Oregon and have lunch with him from time to time. Back in the early 90s my wife and I visited Asheville mostly to see my classmate Hugh Griffiths. I expect you knew his family and older siblings David, Robert, Ruth and Marian.
Dear Gil,
How you found my daily musings is a mystery. But thanks for responding. I made a 30 day Amtrak circle around the United States last summer and had planned to visit Bob Fleming, but with only one lung he was afraid of Covid so whistled by Eugene without stopping. I might have learned about you then.
I joined the Warren Wilson Presbyterian Church choir for a few years but had trouble reading notes. So I stood right next to Hugh Griffiths, who had a wonderful voice and hit every note. I tried to stick with him note after note. He was a very pleasant person. His parents retired here and lived here for a number of years and then moved on.
I’ll be back in Landour for a week in late February. I am traveling with my daughter and her husband on a three month trip that will take us first to Paris for a week and then around North India ending up for a week in Landour before going on to the Baltic States and Europe where my son in law has a sister and Kathe’s (my wife who died a year and a half ago) extended family lives. We leave on January 10 and come back April 5. I ache when I walk over a mile or two but expect to have a great time. If I ever make it back to Eugene I’ll have to look you up.
So thanks for reaching out. I hope everyone is well by now at your retirement home and that this year will be a good one for you. Bill Mosher
My classmate, Phil McEldowney, found your blog and shared postings from it on our class of 59 email list. I’m not sure how he found it but maybe it had to do with his job as U Va South Asian librarian, a job he just retried from at the age of 81. I certainly understood your comments about being the only one who now remembers certain things like the house you lived in in Allahabad. Also about the importance of being able to talk to classmates. Since I’m the only one left in my family who remembers India, the email exchanges and Zoom sessions with classmates are the only times I interact with people who remember and understand my childhood.