The passing of Doug Mataconis has me thinking about how I react to people who die. When someone much younger than me dies, or when I was a couple decades younger and someone my age or younger dies, I just view it as a tragedy and wonder what happened. Cancer? Accident? Murder?
When someone much older dies, I generally think “ehh, 87, that’s a pretty good run,” and if I knew or liked them I’d be sad, but, you know, they were 87. And you don’t really think about how they died because, well, 87.
But now, at 51, when someone my ages dies, it’s fucking scary. I’ll think I need to make a lifestyle change or two, go on a diet that will at the very last until dinner, and glare angrily at the exercise bike and make sure I have plans to destroy my hard drives and go clean my kitchen and bathrooms. It just hits different.