The Happy Post About Dead People

My father is twenty-nine years older than me, so when I was fourteen, he was forty-three. A year later, I was told my parents were getting a divorce. I only bring up the divorce because it is a reference point from my past that I can vividly recall. The day my father officially moved out, some friends and I helped move furniture from my house to his new apartment. In addition to all of the obvious emotions and thoughts that filled my head that day, as I hauled the various boxes and tables up the three flights of stairs, I remember thinking to myself how old he seemed. Forty-four? That was old!

Now that I have a little more age under my belt, along with unwanted body fat, I can unequivocally state, no, it's not old at all. Not even close.

Conservative blogger/activist Andrew Breitbart died today. I was not a fan of the guy. As a liberal, there wasn't much for me to like. My intention though, is not to perform a ranting autopsy on the recently deceased. Instead, I'd rather discuss the legacy left behind as a result of premature death.

Forty-three is a ridiculously young age to go. So is forty-eight, which was how old Whitney Houston was when she passed away a few weeks ago. The Rule of Three was complete with Davy Jones dying at sixty-six ~ which, while yes, is mathematically is a larger number, is still far too young. Trust me, the older you get, the lower those numbers seem. Ask your eighty year old grandparent about Ben Gazarra, and I bet they say eighty-one is too young to die.

While Jones' cause appears to be nothing more nefarious than a heart attack, it is widely assumed that Whitney's death was attributed to drugs ~ whether she was using at the time, or if her body finally broke down as a result of past abuse. There is a selfish part of me that's hoping drugs had a role in Breitbart's death, as well. Not so I can do mean-spirited grave dance, but so it helps relieve the fear and paranoia that it really can happen at any time. I don't know about you, but my first reaction after hearing about someone dying young is to pack my gym bag, and hope that rededicating myself to a daily elliptical regimen will add extra time to my life. My plan is to celebrate my one-hundred-and-fifth birthday. Sure, I might not be able to blow out the candles, or recognize any of the guests, but damn it, I'll be alive to see it!

There are many downsides to dying young, but one that gets overlooked in my opinion is the way your life is framed to others as a consequence. Your lasting legacy.

Not many people have it all figured out early in life. If you happen to be one of those lucky bastards who know what you want when you're a teen, and actively pursue it and achieve it in your early-to-mid twenties, then good for you! I'm jealous, and think you suck, but really, good for you! Sadly, that's not the way it works out for most of us.

Most of us have no idea what we want. Ever. We stumble around from job to job, relationship to relationship, or experience to experience, hoping that sooner or later, one of them will seem appealing and stick. There is no data that I can find to back this up, but I have a strong feeling that if you asked a group of one hundred random forty year olds if the job or career they they are currently involved in is the one they hoped for as a youth, an overwhelming majority of them would say no. Then again, it's not our fault if the demand for cowboys and astronauts is at an all-time low.

That's why people spend so much time and energy re-creating themselves. The job that fit you well at twenty-three suddenly feels old and constrictive at thirty-three. Others have a significantly different problem ~ they feel trapped in their job, unable to make the wanted change for one reason or another. Because of that constant change, or the resentment at not being able to change, we sometimes do stupid things. You get into fights and make regrettable comments. You spend your time masking your pain with drugs. You become bitter and take it out on the wrong people. The examples are limitless.

The good news is, you can overcome all of it.

The bad news is, you might not have the time.

Of all the things Andrew Breitbart accomplished in his life, he will probably be remembered most by the events that occurred just before his death: being captured on video maniacally screaming at Occupy protestors, and calling them rapists. There are few people who would view this clip and not think his unprovoked actions are borderline insane. Had he died twenty years from now, (which, as I pointed out earlier in this piece, would still be too young), that moment might merely be a fleeting chapter of a greater story. True, he could have gotten even crazier with the passage of time, but he could also have been granted the opportunity to put into context his actions of that night and tried to make sense of it. We'll never know.

The same goes for poor Whitney Houston. I was never a fan of hers either, but there are millions across the world who were. And when her name is mentioned, to a great many of us, the memory of her drug abuse will enter our minds before thoughts of her musical accomplishments will.

Please don't think this is some anti-drug screed, because it's not. Nor is it a plea to curb your emotions in the political arena. It's about the opportunity to alter the way we're viewed by others, and by ourselves. Now, I'm the last person to suggest that we all live our lives like saints. First of all, it's because I'm an atheist, and therefore don't believe in saints, but secondly, it's because I realize that it's an impossible goal.  As humans, we are imperfect and vulnerable to emotions, and that shit always gets us in trouble one way or another. What I am suggesting is that we take the time to consider our actions, and how they affect other people in our lives, because if you went right now, guess what?, that stupid thing you're currently doing is going to be the primary way we remember you.

The simple response to that is, "I'll be dead. What does it matter?" Well, if there are people you care about now while you're alive, imagine what they have to go through after you're gone. Blaming themselves. Defending you to your critics. Or, separating themselves as much from the memory of your miserable life as they can. If that's not anything you care about, so be it. Maybe you're not worried because you think you have time to iron this all out, so none of it will be a problem in the future. You could be right. And I hope you are.

But what if you're not?

Okay, so this didn't end up as happy as the titled claimed. Luckily, I have time to fix it...

May we all live to see one-hundred-and-five!

If you come to my party, I'll come to yours!

Let's all wear name tags, though. Just in case.