I may well turn out to be the last survivor of our class, although this could have already changed by the time you read this. It doesn’t matter. Being the last survivor, perhaps living to 100 is no fun, and I would be happy to pass that honor on to someone else. It has gotten to the point now that I assume a classmate has died unless I know otherwise. Dying is not the worst thing that can happen, and I often feel those who have died are luckier than me.
Younger people do not believe this and assume I am simply depressed. All I need is new medication. Boy, are they in for a surprise!
The ancient Greeks thought it was far better to die gloriously in battle while still young, rather than totter on into senility. Perhaps they were right.
But I am not depressed. I want to sample everything life has to offer, the good and the bad. And from here on, I expect most will be bad . . . such as reading your obituary.