I remember reading David Niven’s wonderful autobiography The Moon’s A Balloon, back when I were but a callow yoof, and being saddened by Niven’s story about the brilliant actor George Sanders.
Sanders declared that at age 70 he would commit suicide, because “my cock will have stopped working, my memory will be fading and all the joy will have gone from my life.” And he was true to his word.
The above was sparked by reading this article:
The Kessler twins — a German entertainment duo who became famous both in the US and throughout Europe beginning in the 1950s — have died at 89 after choosing to end their lives together.
The singing and dancing sisters reportedly died together in their home in Grünwald, near Munich.
The Kessler twins once were known for making the rounds on American talk shows and performing with multi-hyphenate entertainment giants, including Frank Sinatra, Fred Astaire and Sammy Davis Jr., among other stars.
Apparently, the sisters ‘no longer wanted to live’ and ‘had chosen to end their lives together.’
Here they are back then:
As I said, back in my youth I would not have understood that feeling, that life had passed and now needed to end.
Now, on my 71st birthday, I can understand that feeling a whole lot better.
Before anyone starts reading something else into that statement, let me assure you all that there’s no cause for alarm. My health is excellent — not just for a septuagenarian, but for a man of any age, my doctor reassures me — and I still have some unfinished business on Ye Olde Bucquette Lystte (patience, Salma). Please do not concern yourselves.
I truly understand how George Sanders and the Kessler sisters felt — but I don’t feel that way for myself.
We can revisit this topic, however, when I turn 90.
Having just turned 77 on the 12th, I can relate. I’ve got health issues slowing me down and I cant find the motivation to get in better shape but I’m not ready to check out yet. I cant leave now, I’ve got gun stuff coming in the mail.
Happy Birthday!
I’ll be 71 the last day of Jan and I’m starting to understand.
After you’ve done all the important stuff, what’s left?
My grandmother went thru a period of cognitive decline in her late 80’s. She started talking like a child, couldn’t remember what happened yesterday but would talk about things from 60-70 years ago when she was a child. She was in a nursing home, confined to a bed. All the rest of the family were telling her to stay strong, that she’d live to be a 100. During one of her more lucid moments she replied “why the hell would I want to live to a 100. I’m ready now.”
My dad used to say nursing homes were just places for old people to go when they’re ready to die. He swore he’d never go to one and he didn’t. I kinda feel the same way. Once I get to the point that someone else has to wipe my ass, I’ll be ready to nibble on a pistol barrel.
…. I still have some unfinished business //
And that’s the core of it. Having paraded on VJ Day as a second-grader, I feel we all have a lot of unfinished business left to do. Sail on.
.
Once upon a time I figured when death tries to come for me I’ll go out kicking. biting, and gouging eyes all the way. However, caring for and watching my wife die a little bit each day from dementia does focus my attention. I sometimes — half jokingly but only half — tell my daughter that should I ever get like that, just leave me a large roll of plastic sheeting, a bottle of my favorite whiskey, and a loaded revolver. I really do not want to go out like that.
Mors est venatrix patiens. Exspectabit.
Which reminds me, I have to update my ICD documents.
On a related note:
https://slaynews.com/news/canadian-government-forcing-doctors-euthanize-treatable-patients/
Reminds me of Norm MacDonald’s comments on suicide. If you can’t imagine why anyone would ever kill themselves…you don’t understand much about life.