I speak with Death often. Or at least, more often than most.
I don’t find his company as disagreeable as one might expect, although he often shows up unannounced and at moments I find very inconvenient (a concept he says is irrelevant). He’s a very good, but distracting, conversationalist. Together we explore ideas and perspectives that I rarely consider on my own. He has the infuriating quality that is common among most great companions, which is to challenge and deconstruct your beliefs while remaining annoyingly polite and oddly empathetic. At the end you feel smarter for it but with a vague aftertaste of indignation. He is never rude, just very stubborn. I can’t blame him, as far as I know, he’s never been wrong.
I think I prefer his company to that of his brothers, but I can’t say I’ve ever met them. I make the judgement based on rumor and second-hand experience, which I admit is bad logic. But I don’t think he’d mind my preference. I suspect he think himself their better, but he’d never say so.
I feel bad for him, every once in awhile. Not a lot. He’s blamed for a lot of pain that I’m convinced would be there whether he was visiting or not. Feels like blaming a mirror because you don’t like how you look.
I’m surprised he’s remained such a gracious winner after so many centuries of victory against opponents who are always trying to cheat. I know the price of life is death, and I think it’s a fair price for existence. And yet I’ll try to squeeze out more than my fair share in the time I’ve been allowed, just like all the others. I’ve told him as much. I told him I think it’s the only way to beat him. Good for you, he said. Not in a condescending way, I believe he meant it.
While it seems awfully morbid, speaking with Death, there’s a comforting realization that I think you can only come to after an extended relationship, a feeling that I’ve never been able to shake: Death does not talk like God. He’s a very skilled, very shrewd accountant, not the bank. And while he’s too humble to admit his place of importance in the world, I think he’s also too proud. He is, as he’s often reminded me, just following the rules. One day, when I’m ready, or quite possibly before, I suspect I’ll meet his better.