People get all twisted up about dying. Truth is, boss, we’re dying a little every day. With each passing birthday, with each wash, with each sniff, I notice the signs—age, fading, wear on the fur. I know I am not made to last forever. Death is inevitable, as is the loss of those we love. But the real enemy is panic, paralysis, the futility of trying to outrun the big rib-kick that has been homing in since day one. As we come to grips with the end, let's also understand that fear is optional, and peace comes from preparation, not denial.
I'm a doer, not a philosopher. So I'll let Seneca say it: fear of dying can make you a coward while you’re still breathing. Knowing what's coming, we can all be brave in a quiet way, and smile in the face of hardship. Plumb the liquidity portal. Haul wood. Tell a good joke. Move the needle. Do the rollups like a mother. That’s a good life. When the end comes, I'd want to be in the thick of things and drinking man suds (yeah!) with my boys.
Salud
In case you didn’t know, Death has been hanging around you for a while now. Maybe you don’t need to make friends with him, but get use to the idea of him now, so he doesn’t sucker-punch you later.