by Larry Brody
One of the darker sides of getting, um, older (as opposed to the brighter ones, like being able to rest longer between workouts and pretend to no longer care about what other people think) is standing on the shore of the river Styx and watching old friends depart this plane of existence.
It doesn’t take long for the bravado behind cynical sentiments like “Better her than me,” or “He’s well out of it now” to fade away, replaced by the fearful awareness that, “Holy hell, I could be next,” and eventually, if you keep on keeping on, by an awareness of the transience of all things that pervades your entire body.
An awareness that even the coldest of us have to acknowledge as genuine sorrow.