This is #12 in a series of essays on aging.

My church has many older people, and consequently I’ve become close to many people older than I. Many are gone now; I attended their memorial services. In my own age group, death is still unusual, but I know from experience what is coming. I’m going to lose a lot of people in my age group. (Or they’ll lose me.)

As a younger person, I would have been filled with grief and disbelief over this. It is always deeply painful when someone dies before their time—a teenager, a recent graduate, someone newly married. When an older person dies, we are sad, we miss them. But we are not shocked. It does not come as an obscenity.

Older people aren’t asking, “Why did God allow this to happen?” as they might if a child were to die. They know this is part of life; old people don’t live forever. But they feel the loss. They feel the loneliness. They experience the empty space where that person has been. The atmosphere feels slightly chillier. Also, they are reminded of what they are coming to.

When we were younger, we found it impossible to believe that we would someday be no more. We simply could not imagine it, which helps to explain why young people drive too fast and jump off cliffs into lakes without knowing where the rocks are. The denial of death is a primary force.

In our older years, however, we gradually come to know that we are going to die. Sometimes, as our bodies break down and our friends disappear, death sounds almost sweet. Our friends beckon us from beyond. Fear diminishes. Fatigue makes us long for rest.

In the meantime, we feel lonely. We lose a lot of friends.