If I Die…

If I die on December 28, 2099, I will be 128 years old. There is never enough arrogance to assume my life will span a third century. Today, such an age is beyond our comprehension. When we prepare to step into the 22nd century, that number will be commonplace, though slightly below the expected lifespan for humans who choose to accept genetic integration with nanoscale robotics. My wife will always joke about how I was practically first in line for the DNA origami phase 2 clinical trial, one of two emerging treatments for neurological disorders at the time. The other will be abruptly canceled after six reported deaths mere days before my first scheduled treatment. I remain committed, however; I have no other choice.

Hours before my death, cameras record a final interview. The documentary, For Them, He Never Stopped… Never Quit…, airs less than two months later. Completed almost four years prior, I refuse multiple requests to release the film.

“People are dying to hear the story, KB,” the director says time and again.

“It’s not my whole story. Not yet.”

Eventually, they stopped pressing the issue. What happens during the final week validates my stubborn refusal. Millie takes two Oscars home.

***

If I die on December 28, 2071, the irony of any final symmetry in my life will be fodder for comedic stories throughout my memorial celebration. “He did not want any tribute” is the exact reason my friends and family gather; that, and to joke how now they can get a word in edgewise. A printout of my “Do Hard Things” list will sit beside my urn of ashes, triggers to fuel high-spirited stories throughout the night:

• Complete 50 Garage Dayz Rides: my friends find my rhetoric most entertaining, the way I constantly referred to it as “At Least 50 Garage Dayz,” doubling up my ride on more than a few months.
• Walk Across The US: although I’ve planned the event for over three years, everyone still calls it my “Forrest Gump moment,” when, one morning of my vacation, I wake up and just start walking the Lincoln Highway Corridor.
• The Last Child: I refuse recognition, deferring accolades to my co-author, when the subplot of my first bestseller becomes the unofficial designation of NASA’s Panspermia Program.

***

If I die on May 21, 2042, I will have lived 25,712 days. Stephen Byrne, my grandfather, died one day shy of that age, on October 25, 1972. Always fixated on numbers and dates, I have embraced that target ever since my brother, Tom, passed away in 2021. Rolling the clock further back to 1988, my dad’s suicide at 43 years and 79 days will leave an exposed nerve that only partially healed when I turned 43 and 80. I remain in fear until February 7, 2027. Countless “random” dates and numbers, connected only in my mind, will continue to haunt me for my entire life. If I approach 29,969 (Stephen, Sr.), all I envision will be 30k, continuing my pursuit of milestones.

***

If I died on October 26, 1999, none of this would ever have the opportunity to take shape. My suicide would have been a momentary moment of sorrow for most people who knew me, devastating to a small handful. The section of H-1 on Oahu, where I considered careening my car over the ledge, would have a beautiful Yellow Hibiscus display placed at the curve. The yellow blossoms would wither and brown in a day; Never Stop… Never Quit… would never exist, nor would anyone be there to mandate the addition of “for them.”

Join the Conversation
Suicide Prevention Month reminds us that talking about suicide isn’t harmful — silence is. One honest conversation can be a turning point in someone’s life.

https://www.nami.org/stay-connected/events/awareness-events/suicide-prevention-month/

Because it is a fight.

The fight is not over and it won’t be over until a cure is found.

It will never stop…nor will we

It will never quit…nor will we

This is why we fight for them!

 

Never Stop… Never Quit…®

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