I probably won’t live to see them go through anger, bargaining, depression and acceptance.
I can’t remember ever being in denial. Nor can I remember ever not being depressed.
Not depressed because I’ve finally accepted that I’m mortal, because I never denied it. Depressed because I, like most people, wasted my life doing what I had to do instead of what I should do.
On the rare occasions when I’ve been happy, I knew it wouldn’t last. But that didn’t depress me, because I've always known happiness isn’t the norm, for me or for anyone else. I was depressed because so much of our unhappiness is of our own doing.
Because I’ve always known that happiness is rare, and doesn’t last, I've enjoyed it when it did come. Others are unhappy because they think happiness is the norm, or should be. They even imagine their happiness will be eternal, because they’re immortal. Surely this delusion is the cause of their unhappiness.
Even though I’ve always been aware of my mortality, and accepted it, I now feel myself moving towards the acceptance of something I couldn’t before. It’s not my mortality, but that of my species.
I tried to make the world better. Others tried to do the same, and failed. I should have known I would, too. From the crooked timber of humanity no straight thing was ever made.
Humans have been destructive and self-destructive for as long as we’ve been a species. Repeatedly we've built a civilization and then destroyed it, like a small child building a tower for the pleasure of knocking it down. In the past, we've always built a new civilization from the ruins of the old. Now, for the first time, we have the power to not only knock the tower down, but grind its bricks into a dust so fine that no new bricks can be made from it. All that will remain is sand on an empty beach beside ahe eternal sea.