Dying Is More like Using Leftovers, Preferably Well
Blame it on Sylvia Plath, who in her poem Lady Lazarus, wrote:
Is an art, like everything else.
When I was sixteen, I was enthralled with those lines and, indeed, that poem. At 64, having outlived Plath by more than three decades, I still admire the poem but am far more skeptical of her pronouncement.
Dying an art? Sylvia’s assertion aside, my take on death, as I move closer to it, is I’m dealing with leftovers.