My First Marker on Mortality Road

Ronnie James Dio died May 16. Mr. Dio was a rock star, of sorts, who really enjoyed sports. He wrote songs while watching New York Yankees and Giants games.  He fronted a heavy metal band called “Dio,” as well the bands Black Sabbath, Rainbow, Deep Purple and others, which left a noticable echo on my teenage years as well as the start of my military career. 

Mr. Dio is also my first marker on Mortality Road. 

Although Mr. Dio was almost thirty years older than me, he fell into that basket of goods I carry around from my formative years. Television shows. Films. Friends, Music. The whole gamut of things we program ourselves with and get attached to. And, at some point, my mind chose dying musicians as a means of marking time until someone carves the name into my tombstone. Call it gruesome. I call it an active subconscious at work. 

When Mr. Dio died yesterday, it set off something of a ticking clock. Despite his 67 years and my [muffled] years, he serves as the first reminder that although I’ve still got many years to go, windows on a great many things have begun closing. There are opportunities, but either I seize them now or I never seize them. There will either be jumping out of an airplane or there will not. 

Now, there are other things at play here. My health, while good, has, in fact, caught up with my age. My knees are shot. Things itch more than they should. I wear glasses. I’ve beaten cancer once. All of these things begin their creep into a life at about the same time people like Mr. Dio die and serve as the first road sign that you might be nearing the other Magic Kingdom. 

There are anomalies to this theory, of course. When Stevie Ray Vaughn died in 1991, I didn’t pay it any mind. Kurt Cobain? Never followed him in the first place. Although 50 percent of the Beatles are gone, they were before my time. Rolling Stones, too. However, when James Hetfield, Joe Satriani, Steve Vai and Kip Winger (all right — not Kip Winger), and others start a chorus of dirt naps, then this will have my attention. 

Don’t get me wrong. I don’t comb obituaries like Felix Unger. I’m not locked into some morose idea that my death is imminent. I feel fine. I’d qualify my health as ‘great’ and my mental state as ‘goofy.’ I foresee 76.4 years of above average life span. However, there is something to be said about Mr. Dio dying and having an eye toward the future. 

In fact, these reminders serve as something more positive; something that pushes me toward those things I need to accomplish. Mr. Dio death gives life to another writing project, or lights the fire on a new illustrations. It reminds me to kiss my daughter, more fiercely love my wife and family, and rededicate myself to work that matters and friends that care. 

I’m guessing everyone has some way of marking this time. What’s yours?

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