Old, Older, Dead?

I suppose that it is only natural to be faced with loss when we reach a certain age which, though not very advanced by today's standards, is still realistically past middle age; reluctantly I am prepared to accept this, especially in light of available evidence.

And that evidence is this:

1. Our parents, assuming they have had a 'normal' lifespan, depart this life and cede their place to us in the production line of life.
2. Many of our childhood 'heroes' or, in any event, people we idolised are dropping like flies, gone forever.
3. Our friends, especially those either slightly older or prone to a more dissolute lifestyle (or at least less careful about their health...), are dying, leaving us with a sense of loss and pain.

What does it matter? What do my - or yours for that matter - feelings matter in the greater scheme of things? Isn't death and therefore loss entirely natural and normal? What's the big deal?

It matters to me and I choose to share it with you, my reader, because it has a lot to do with being proper human beings, caring about others, having a heart. To me, were I not to think of loss, the pain associated with it and the absence of figures, once so important to me in many different ways, I would be deficient, defective, incomplete. Yes it hurts, which is not pleasant, but the pain is counterbalanced by what all these individuals have given me over the years, often unknowingly.

Some of this is to do with friendship, some with inspiration, some with love or lust; their presence filled parts of my life and their absence leaves a gaping hole. Wonderful memories can now no longer be shared, for the individual who experienced life with you then is no longer around. My motor racing days are greatly diminished by the departure from this life of Bob Geeson, my great friend and race engineer, whose trust, guidance, wisdom and support made a lot of it possible and all worthwhile, and Andreas Christopoulos, my boyhood friend with whom countless acts of driving madness were committed and countless dreams of driving glory were shared.

London no longer feels the same without Nick Ewart, with his mischievous look and his wonderful off-the-wall sense of humour, not to mention his capacity for sharing food and drink; the banking world (or my little part of it) shrivelled when Mike McCarthy disappeared from this earth, together with the little City hidey-holes he introduced me to over the years, where he was known and appreciated and where no lunch was complete without at least two bottles of wine. My friend Irene, no longer at the end of a telephone, will never again be there to share reminiscences of her exquisite Knightsbridge children's shop Little Horrors and the fun we had there.

My literary world, such as it is, misses Robert B. Parker (no, not the wine man...) and his Spenser etc., John D. MacDonald and Travis McGee, Rex Stout and Nero Wolfe, Michael Dibdin and Aurelio Zen, Colin Dexter and Inspector Morse, Henning Mankell and Kurt Wallander, to name but a few. And I can't begin to list the singers, musicians, actors, teachers and other inspirations who have left me poorer for their passing and who are difficult, if not impossible, to replace.

So it goes on, and I feel for every loss, hurt a little bit more every day, but don't see them as signposts that I'm on the way out too, I truly don't; I do accept, however, the natural progression and that they are indicators of sorts, with time not on my side.

And, despite the indications that most prospective employers view me as already too old - or half dead! - I soldier on in my little world, meeting new people and finding new experiences that, while they will never replace the ones lost, give me more to love and be getting on with.

So this is a cry of pain from one who is quite old but with a young man's heart and (occasionally) enthusiasm - and not quite dead yet!