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I think a lot about death these days. One has to, at my age. Every day, I'm bombarded with mail, all pointing up the imminent arrival of my demise.

For instance, yesterday I received a promo for accidental death insurance. As my husband reached for the flyer, I grabbed it away and tossed it into the re-cycling bin. He looked at me quizically and I explained, " I don't plan to die accidentally. When I go, it will be on purpose--even if the cause is accidental."

My father died accidentally. He walked in front of a speeding car driven by a drunk driver. My father was fifty-two years old, but since I was only eleven at the time, I thought of him as an "older man". I mourned his death, but I recall being grateful that he lived as long as he did. When World War II wiped out the lives of many of my teen-age friends, I realized I wasn't so far off base in thinking my father, although not "ready" for death, had actually lived to enjoy marriage and family before he involuntarily departed, something my peers had not.

Mortgage insurance is another proposal constantly being "offered" us. At our ages, the cost is so astronomical, we'd have to borrow to be able to pay the premiums.

Not only do we hear about funeral and burial arrangements through the mail, but we also receive weekly telephone calls from low-speaking, serious telemarketers who have the gall to quote our ages before proposing that heavenly spot I should invest in "for the future". My reply is that, at the moment, I'm concentrating on the present, and my driver's license bears a directive as to what is to be done to my "remains". No more calls--please.

I know the local hospitals and city programs for the "elders" are fine projects for those inclined toward woodworking, health seminars and "gentle" exercise, but mailing me brochures on a steady basis is a waste of postage. Although my chronological age qualifies me for such "enticements", I prefer workouts at the Oak Point Fitness Center, running the Oak Point Book Club, and participation in the social and cultural activities of Oak Point and Boston.

And what are the touted joys of aging? Why Medicare, Social Security, reduced rates at theatres, restaurants and hotels. Discounts on car rentals and airline coupon books. And how about those courses for seniors at Stonehill College? But best of all, the calls from grandchildren asking when my next visit will be. And that final sign-off at the end of the conversation, even from those in and graduated from college--"I love you, Ammy".

So, Edward Cullen Bryant, I'm not ready to wrap the drapery of my couch about me and lie down to pleasant dreams, as you suggest in "Thanatopsis". I prefer the advice of Dylan Thomas to his father:

"Do not go gentle into that good night,
Rage, rage, against the dying of the light."

That light will never be quenched accidentally. I plan to "rage" until it's too dark to see the beauty of my roses, a fantastic sunset--or Robert Redford's smile.

- Doris Small

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