The Worst Part of Getting Older Is All the Dying

I suspect this is not going to slow down.

On Sunday afternoon, word came that Wes Freed, a longtime Southern underground artist perhaps best known for his album covers for the Drive-By Truckers, had died of colon cancer. Freed was the sort of artist that meant a ton to the people who knew him — Jason Isbell dedicated his set to him last night — but wasn’t quite popular enough to get an obituary in, say, The New York Times … which is probably exactly how an underground artist would like it. Freed will be sorely missed … which is a phrase I feel like I’m saying all the time anymore.

I have a friend who is an entertainment writer who has begun to darkly joke that every time he finds a second to take a break or a few days off, a beloved actor or musician will die and he’ll be called upon to write an obit for them. The joke isn’t that he doesn’t like writing about performance he cares for, but instead that there are constant obits to be written. The older you get, the more people whose work you value start dying. And it will never, ever stop.

In his brilliant essay “This Old Man,” the writer Roger Angell — who just died this summer, sparking his own set of obits — described the worst part of getting older: Continuing to live while all the people you care about don’t get to anymore.