I read an article yesterday and the man who wrote it lamented his grandparents dying so young . . . one was in his 60’s and the other was in her 70’s. To me, that is not a young death.
Both my parents died in their 50’s, and I never expected to live to be 60 years old. I always thought anyone who died in their 50’s or younger died when they were young.
My grandmother used to quote the King James version of how long we are expected to live. (This is the International Standard Version for those who do not know what three score and ten equals) – International Standard Version
“We live for 70 years, or 80 years if we’re healthy, yet even in the prime years there are troubles and sorrow. They pass by quickly and we fly away.”
My grandmother always said anyone living past the age of 70 is living on “borrowed time”, which was time she said was ‘borrowed” from someone who died before the age of 70.
My grandmother lived to be 81. I still marvel at the changes she saw in her lifetime.
I expect death to be like reaching a finish line and someone with a whistle will blow it and yell “TIME’S UP!” and then hopefully I’ll fly . . .
I’ve seen many changes in my own lifetime. From radio to TV to color TV to computers and microwaves and all the other things we were told as children that weren’t possible. I remember church members sometimes wondering how God could see all his children . . . then I got the SIMS game and wondered if he were just more technologically advanced than we were.
I’ve reached that age where the first thing I notice in an obituary is someone’s age. How old were they when they died? I suspect it doesn’t matter. When your time is up, it’s up.