Bob Dylan death lyrics – part 2

Well, in my time of dying don’t want nobody to mourn
All I want for you to do is take my body home
Well, well, well, so I can die easy

I’ve previously mentioned my hometown still supports a weekly newspaper as it has for longer than I can remember. Some years ago mom decided that her kids, now living 400-500 miles away, should each receive a yearly subscription to help stay in touch with who, and what we once knew. One drawback is the delay in receiving the paper, usually two to four weeks after it is published. These days the obituary section seems to be the where I’m most likely to read a name I recognize.

During last week’s trip back home, as mentioned in my previous post, among the friends I visited were three who had each recently lost a parent or spouse. Reading the obit in the paper is far removed from there reality of the death it announces. Missing from the text are some painful pieces of information not normally discussed in print. The ravages of Multiple Sclerosis, paranoid Dementia lasting for months where the patient is handcuffed by law enforcement for transport to the hospital, the puzzlement over why the ambulance was sent from the next county for the heart attack victim who collapsed waiting for his grandson in the school pick up line.

So if you knew me you would probably think I was brooding about something since my return and you would be right.


About Marcus

Who me? Introverted, neurotic, self-absorbed, increasingly cynical observer of human nature and part time social critic in hiding. Most of my life spent avoiding growing up. The naive idealistic passions of youth have evolved into the eclectic eccentricities of adulthood. Northeast Florida small-town native, related to people I can't relate to. Simultaneously my own best friend and worst enemy. Politically and spiritually unaffiliated, my personal ideologies put me all over the map or off it completely.
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