Today’s passing of Dick Clark sparked an interesting conversation on my Facebook page. Basically, I feel the passing of an 82-year-old stroke victim is not a tragic or sad event. I wouldn’t go so far as to say it is something we should celebrate; but why be morose?
Here we have man who was arguably one of the ten most influential people in the history of television reduced to a bumbling, stumbling shell of his former self. It would be one thing if this occurred behind closed doors, but it didn’t. The deterioration of Mr. Clark happened right before our eyes and was played out year after year on New Year’s Eve. Now THAT was a tragedy.
Moving on from Mr. Clark, I am very concerned about how our society deals with death in general. Why are we so obsessed with the anniversary of our loved one’s passing? Why don’t we instead focus on the good times we had and remember them when we remember them?
I’m not trying to be callous, and I have experienced the death of loved ones first hand. In fact I was one of my grandmother’s caretakers during her final months. Wilma Hutchins died in 2005: I don’t know the exact date, because I don’t remember those things. My grandmother was a remarkable woman. Robbed of most of her eyesight at too young an age, she continued to play golf, read, and paint until her body no longer allowed her to.