At what age did you realise you were not immortal? How did you react to that discovery?
I think I was 39 when I realised I was not immortal. It was when my father passed away at an early age. He was not even 60 when he left us. It broke my heart. At first I was angry that he left us, then I accepted it. The pain was still there, I still miss him. I still could remember our conversation, the phone calls, the letters, his cooking, our trips, our adventures. From time to time, I look at his photographs, well, what I have with me. I know wherever he was, he watches over us. From that discovery that I was not immortal, I’ve looked at life differently. I treat each day as if it’s my last day on earth. I appreciate people like Him Indoors, HRH the Son, my Mom, my siblings, friends and family. I count my blessing. I do things I like, fulfill my Buckets List, help others, be happy and accept things as they are.
Death, To The Dead For Evermore
by Robert Louis Stevenson
DEATH, to the dead for evermore
A King, a God, the last, the best of friends –
Whene’er this mortal journey ends
Death, like a host, comes smiling to the door;
Smiling, he greets us, on that tranquil shore
Where neither piping bird nor peeping dawn
Disturbs the eternal sleep,
But in the stillness far withdrawn
Our dreamless rest for evermore we keep.
For as from open windows forth we peep
Upon the night-time star beset
And with dews for ever wet;
So from this garish life the spirit peers;
And lo! as a sleeping city death outspread,
Where breathe the sleepers evenly; and lo!
After the loud wars, triumphs, trumpets, tears
And clamour of man’s passion, Death appears,
And we must rise and go.
Soon are eyes tired with sunshine; soon the ears
Weary of utterance, seeing all is said;
Soon, racked by hopes and fears,
The all-pondering, all-contriving head,
Weary with all things, wearies of the years;
And our sad spirits turn toward the dead;
And the tired child, the body, longs for bed.