I will consider myself lucky if I see my son reach the age of 35. That’s 33 years away and by that point I’ll be 83.
I will consider myself lucky if I see my son reach the age of 30. That’s 28 years away and by that point I’ll be 78.
I say this purely because my Dad died when he was 73, Mum made it to 78 (including 13 years post stroke). That said my Dad’s death was sudden, as was my Mum’s, and both were in declining health so whilst it was a shock, neither death was completely unexpected.
Fair to say that my own mortality has been highlighted in no short measure recently.
When Becca and I decided to have a baby (even if that baby is now almost 4!) I knew and accepted that I would be an “old” Dad. Becca is a fair bit younger than me but I already knew that she absolutely wanted to have a child, it was a non-negotiable for her and we discussed it early in our relationship; I can still remember that conversation and when I went home and reflected on it I realised I wasn’t freaking out about possibly becoming a Dad regardless of my age.
I was already 48 when that discussion happened and I couldn’t help but think forward and wonder how things will be as I got older. Safe to say my age has always been in the back of my mind when it comes to thinking of my son’s future. Well, technically my age AND my health, but they are one and the same these days, ahh the joys of turning 50.
I have a desire to make sure that when I die, presuming it is at least a couple of decades away, that I will leave my wife and son in a good secure place. To me that has a myriad of meanings and, whilst it’s not purely financial, right now that’s my focus so the 5 year plan becomes a 10 year plan and other things that I had in mind for my future, like my retirement age, are currently being revised. Beyond that I feel confident that they will be safe, will have experienced as much love as I can possibly give (an unending amount), and can look back on our time together on this planet with fondness.
I will pause at this point to say that, despite the topic I am absolutely delighted to be privileged enough to be entertaining such thoughts. I know not everyone has what I have and that never leaves my mind. As I’ve said before, despite all of these ongoing thoughts I do my best to push them aside day by day but, of course, that means they need dealt with at some point, even if only from a practical point of view.
That means getting a will in place, considering what my funeral might look like – no black! Wild colours and silliness please, and if there isn’t ice cream afterwards I’ll be disappointed! – and where I want my ashes scattered (two spots spring to mind, the time I realised I was falling in love with Becca, and the second where I proposed to her, but I’ll hold off as I know Jack and I will find a special place we both love too!).
Though I am just being practical, this is not some lasting statement on the fragility of life, nor any fascination with my own death (as far away as possible and painlessly, please). If anything it’s a way to help me focus on my life today, to take time to enjoy the precious moments I have with Jack as he grows and flourishes, to savour the fact that I fell in love with an amazing woman who is my best friend, a beautiful nag, a formidable unstoppable force, and my absolute foundation.
Thinking about death is an odd thing, in a way it’s a bit like sex. Ummm that sounds weird, I just mean that it’s one of those things we just don’t talk about, do we. It feels odd just to be committing these thoughts to a permanent record, to be writing with full knowledge that this even will happen even though I am far from ready for it to occur.
It also strikes me that when I first started writing about this topic I presumed that I wouldn’t see Jack reach 40. Yet that is entirely possible, I’d only be 88 after all, and you know how I like a goal… bring on Project 90!
The Morbid Truth
