Looking Back On The Old Days When People Died Young

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A young friend in her thirties recently lost her rather young uncle – in his forties – to heart attack. It was sudden and unexpected and happened exactly a hundred days after the uncle lost his wife.
Given the stressful nature of his work (politics) and the significance of the hundred days interval for Muslims, the stress must have just become too much for him, and he probably died of a broken heart.
I offered my condolences and prayers and the hope that things would sort themselves out over time, which could be tough, given that there are small children involved. But such is life.
I seem to remember there were more deaths while I was growing up. There were fewer people around certainly, but more seemed to be dying, often earlier than would be usual nowadays. More of them also lived nearby in close-knit families, so perhaps we noticed it even more because of that.
Lifespans certainly have increased since then, pandemics notwithstanding. We expect to live longer than our parents, and barring some major surprises, we would reach ages thought exceptional during their time.
Back then, people also died in quite unusual ways. I remember a few who died falling off trees, as many then made their living harvesting fruits, with coconut, cempedak and petai, or stinky beans, being the main culprits.
Living in a fishing community then, there would be the occasional tragedies of those who never came back from the sea. We also lost people to poisonous belangkas (horseshoe crabs). I’ve actually eaten those crabs, caught from the same place over the years, but luckily not when they became poisonous.
And then there are the usual suspects – road accidents, malaria, even maladies attributed to hexes and spells and hauntings. Many also died in hospitals, supposedly for causes even the doctors couldn’t explain, though they were likely to be from an assortment of cancers back when the C word was very taboo.
But, and this is a blessing we don’t count very often, not many of us were taken by natural disasters. The occasional floods perhaps, but no typhoons (the Philippines catches most of them) or earthquakes or volcanoes (Philippines again, and Indonesia too) or droughts and plagues.
Nor man-made ones. There were the scary years during the “Emergency”, which was the British euphemism for the major communist insurrection in the 1950s which was almost a civil war but one that luckily never got to the level of Vietnam and Indonesia.
We live in a blessed land, indeed. But people back then still didn’t expect to live long. Anybody who got to their fifties was considered to be old. Retirement age then was 55, yet not many got to enjoy their pensions for long.
Most retirees then were men, and given that women lived longer then (and now), many widows got to continue to enjoy their husband’s pensions for years afterwards. That made them the envy of many those days.
People live longer nowadays and enjoy their pensions longer too, which is wreaking havoc with our pensions economics. Living longer also wreaks havoc to those who don’t receive pensions and have inadequate savings, in a society that doesn’t see taking care of its aged as a filial duty anymore. For many, it must be a very scary proposition to grow old.
My parents died almost exactly by the lifespan statistics – at 73 for my father and 78 for my mother.
Life expectancy has gone up since, so if I follow family tradition, expect me to be around offering unsolicited views and opinions to all and sundry for a while yet.
They both passed away without much drama through chronic illnesses: in my father’s case it was smoking-related, and I’m pretty sure in my mother’s case it was secondary smoking.
Neither of them feared death. They led the life of the faithful and the thought of meeting their Maker didn’t scare them. I was lucky enough to be able to take care of them in their old age, along with my sisters, and I had no unfinished business with them.
Our ledger was balanced, so to speak, and that was a blessing for them, and for me too.
When I was younger, the thought of dying early used to frighten me: all the responsibilities I had towards my family as well as my elderly parents… who’s gonna take care of them if I kicked the bucket too soon?
Well, they say the good die young, and I’m still around. I look back and feel so blessed that there was no way I could have died at thirty and left a lot of unfinished business behind. Neither could it have happened at forty, or fifty or even sixty.
We create our own happiness, they say, just as we also create our own sorrow. Those thoughts – that I have had a few good innings, and expect to be around a while longer spreading good cheer and confusion in equal mix – keeps me happy enough most days.
I know some feel uncomfortable in talking about death. And to them, I’m sorry if I raised uncomfortable thoughts in your head. But is it macabre to be talking about something that we all face?
Not at all, my friends – not on your life! - FMT
The views expressed are those of the writer and do not necessarily reflect those of MMKtT.

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