The humor. In dying.

I have to learn to accept my mortality. Without going into anxiety. Accepting the fact. That I am going to die. Eventually. That's why I get nervous. When I go to doctors. Knowing that sooner or later. They will discover something. That will lead to my demise. My death. Of course, there's a plus side. Discover a potentially troublesome condition in the early stage, and it's possible to nip the problem in the bud. Thing is. That only delays death. I have to learn acceptance. And not jump to premature conclusions. That hasten my death. But that's far easier said than done. Everything becomes easier. If I learn to accept death. That it could come at any time. And that worrying about it, does me no good. And quite possibly grievous harm. So, how do I go about. Controlling my anxiety. My fear. Of dying. Maybe it's that death isn't the worst thing that could happen. Death may be entry into another form of life. And consciousness.  I can look at it as an adventure. Makes me wonder if that was on my father's mind. When he committed suicide. Or was he wishing for a return to absolute nothingness. To the end of time. Maybe for him. Better that than eternal unhappiness. Eternal anxiety. As I approach age 80. I know. I am running out of time. I am thankful. That I have lasted this long. When reading the obituaries. More and more, I notice. Most of the deaths. Are of people. Younger than me. More reminders. Of my impending death. Now I'm starting to see humor. In all of this. In dying. --Jim Broede