Such A Question
“How do you think you will die?”
Unless you make your living as the ever so attractive target in a Las Vegas knife throwing act the answer to that question is strictly speculative.
I don’t know.
There are seven billion people on Earth and there are likely to be seven billion different answers.
Such a question to ask someone over lunch. That was when it was asked of me. It’s hard to ask that question without sounding a little impatient, as if you’re urging the person to get on with it.
“How do you think you will die (And when will you plan on leaving the food chain?).”
What are you looking for – a parking space? Do you want me to move out so you can move in? Am I in your way? Are you going to be throwing banana peels in my path?
Such a question!
It really is the kind of question one hears in the wake of a Freshman Philosophy class. It is the kind of question one might hear while sipping a latte in the Student Union coffee shop, but not while having a real grown-up lunch. But there it was – laid out on the table like a dead fish. Hard to ignore.
“How do you think you will die?
“Probably from something fatal.”
The person who asked the question would not accept that answer. He said that he was being serious. Well…so was I, Smarty Pants. I’m not likely to die of something trivial. No one dies from having a paper napkin instead of a cloth one at lunch. Unless you get a paper cut, it gets infected, and there you go.
Such a question to ask someone who is already older than his actuarial life expectancy. That is like thumbing your nose at Fate. Not a good idea in my mind. Once you reach a certain age I think it is best to stay quiet and keep your head low. No sense tempting the gods. At my age I am not going to take up Base Jumping, Zip Lines, or 22 year old Redheads. All of those could be fatal to a man in my current decade of life.
Such a question. How am I going to die? I’ll have to get back to you on that. When it becomes evident that my time is about up I’ll send you a text message about it. “This is it. I’m on my way out. My doctor says to not make plans for the weekend. But we’re not sure if it is something serious. I’ll get back to you.”
Such a question. How do you think you’re going to die? Does it really matter? If you’re dead…you’re dead. Unless there is foul play involved who cares? Only if there is a spear sticking out from between my shoulder blades nobody will pay the least attention.
If there is an identifiable “cause of death” – OK, but in this world my guess is that most people die of nothing in particular. They just stop living. One minute they are alive and the next minute they are “The Dearly Departed.”
My guess is that none of the people around our lunch table can predict their ultimate cause of …not death…their cessation of living. No one died during lunch. They all dodged the bullet that was disguised as the Lasagna. The question was asked, but never answered.
Such a question.