Suicide is . . .

Very few people go through life without thinking of suicide at least once. I had more than one flippant conversation when I was in my early 20's about the subject. The focus wasn't the dull pain of life and the need to end a meaningless existence. It was about the most thrilling means to that end. My friend John had selected a high speed motorcycle to propel him off the rim of the inner gorge of the Grand Canyon at Toroweep as his choice. After my first visit to that spectacular site I understood the draw it had. My knees nearly buckled at the sheer drop and mind-boggling beauty of the place. The view from the middle of the canyon looking back and up at the ledge would be one you would remember for the rest of your life. Right.

I attempted to find a similar testosterone-fueled demise for myself. After quite a bit of consideration I settled on a trip to the far north where I could seat myself on the very lip of a melting and calving glacier. There I would sit and wait for that piece of ice to metamorph from the leading edge of a long tongue of ice to a free-floating iceberg. The choice of time would rest on the ice and I would eventually tumble with tons of brilliant blue ice into oblivion, my body a frozen meal for whatever critters would find it. It seemed good for the time and still would work, re-written as an action scene in a blockbuster movie, but no longer seems the best for me.

I have yet to find the pathos needed to bring my worldly existence to a premature end. Still the hopeless Pollyanna I look for rainbows in the rooms of dying people and wait for the first crocus of spring like a child waits for Christmas morning. Some people with a more realistic grasp on the nature of the world look at me with pity. Others just don't address the issues fearing cross-contamination would make them incapable of making sound, adult decisions. I respect that and would like to experience the hopelessness and futility that creates a well-rounded adult. So far I've only dipped my toe in that dark pool and find it's cold and not very inviting for the lightweight spirit I claim as my own.

I've tried once again to think of the best means of taking my life. Hell, I just turned 60 years old and feel at times like I'm still a kid, not knowing what the world expects of me. So I listened to the darkest music I could find and drank whiskey as I set about deciding how I would bring this life to an unnatural end. The music was classical stuff by Malher and before long it was Wagner and then Beethoven. From there it went to Bach and finally to Gilbert and Sullivan. It wasn't working as I was soon singing along with the Major General in “The Pirates of Penzance.” The whiskey got me thinking of sharing drinks while camping or playing card with friends or while watching a good game on the tube. It just wasn't working.

While driving this morning the DJ played the theme music from M.A.S.H., “Suicide is Painless”, a wonderful song by Johnny Mandel, I think. I was re-inspired and finally came up with some options for this stage of my life.

Suicide by Patience: I'll wait here for death to come and fetch me.
Suicide by Grandchildren: When they have had enough of me being silly or realize that money can come in a truck rather than in dollops, I'll move on.
Suicide by Talk Radio: When Sean Hannity is President and Glenn Beck is V.P. I'll lay my head under the free-market bus and be done with it.
Suicide by Clean Basement: By the time I've gotten it cleaned up and ready to finish it into organized storage, guest rooms, bath and recreation rooms, I'll let them deliver a load of sheetrock on top of my chest. Or maybe I'll be so startled by the vast space that now needs to be attended to that I'll die rather than engage in another lengthy enterprise that illustrates the lack of balance between my expectations and my skills.
Suicide by Regulation: So afraid that they will be caught by their own people for the exaggerations over the Health Care bills, the Republicans will amend the bill with a real death panel that focuses on old Democrats exclusively, thus killing more than two birds with one stone.