A lot of people died today. Some old folks just wore out. Some people overdosed on drugs. Some died in the dungeons of Saddam Hussein or Fidel Castro. A few went out in a literal blaze of glory.
The deaths of the seven astronauts on the Columbia space shuttle is a damned shame, but I don't feel that bad about it. Please do not take this as callousness, but as perspective.
They went out in a glorious manner. They got to be astronauts, and they went out in a blaze of glory. If you have to die- and we all do, eventually- how better to go? They spent their last days in space, and then poof, they were gone. It would be difficult to imagine a better way to go.
Their families have the worse part. They don't have their husbands or daddies. Even that, however, is mitigated by the circumstances. Daddy died a hero. These kids will get respect in the schoolyard. They have a proud legacy.
Warren Zevon shows another kind of brave death. He suffers from terminal cancer; his days are strictly numbered. [CLICK HERE for an outstanding New York Times feature.] I'd like to think that under similar circumstances I'd have the cheek for a gesture such as this photo from his official website of Warren being tended by his "personal physician," the good "Dr" Hunter S Thompson.
I probably don't want to argue that Zevon is more heroic than our astronauts, but what he's doing does show more obvious heroism. The astronauts lived well, but they weren't thinking about dying, they just went. They probably didn't feel a thing, and certainly didn't have to think about it or live with the idea of an imminent passing. They didn't really do anything death related.
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