Every fourth thought is death
I find myself thinking about death frequently, or more frequently than in the past, not in any specific terms.
I ask myself is that person dead or did I dream it? I think about the dead ones, often enough. I think about my death and other’s. I no longer am shocked about celebrity deaths. On and on.
I read that after 50 thoughts of death come much more often.
A friend who is a nurse says that the old folk’s home he works at got a parrot. But the residents stressed the parrot out so much it almost died and had to be hospitalized for two months. Now the parrot pecks anyone who comes near him. Later that same day, I’m walking on a street alone and there is a dead parrot on the sidewalk.
Riding in the train, I made bird shadows on the wall for Tin, showing him how to lock his thumbs to make the wings fly. He is fascinated at first but then throws his hands down on his lap in frustration and I ask him what’s wrong. He says, “The bird’s dead.”