Death is the Final Chapter of Life
Although I am not personally a fan of heavy metal or hard rock, I was saddened to hear that Ozzy Osbourne died on July 22, 2025, at the age of 76. He had exceptional talent and numerous awards. The August 5th news headline was “Ozzy Osbourne’s Cause of Death Revealed”. He suffered from Parkinson’s disease and had emphysema, but his primary cause of death was ruled as an acute myocardial infarction (heart attack).
Most people, when learning about someone’s death, want to know two things: their age and their cause of death.
My dear friend, Joe, died the night before Ozzy’s death. Joe had just turned 85 and died of congestive heart failure.
But why are we interested in their age and cause of death?
There are medical, scientific, and public health reasons for tracking the causes of death. But for those of us who are not health professionals, is it morbid curiosity that drives us to seek this information?
Knowing the cause of death is often necessary for legal purposes, such as death certificates, determining the manner of death, and family history and genetics. Knowing the cause of death can provide information about a potential genetic predisposition to certain diseases, which can inform family members’ healthcare decisions.
Beyond that, morbid human curiosity is a normal trait. The human mind craves narratives and explanations. When a person dies, there’s a natural desire to understand the “story” of how their life ended. The cause of death provides a final answer to that story, which can be psychologically satisfying.
Curiosity may also be rooted in empathy. We might want to know if the person suffered, what their last moments were like, or if their death was peaceful. This can be a way of processing the fragility of life.
On the other hand, some people are thrill-seekers, which partially explains the appeal of true crime podcasts or horror movies. This can be a way to experience fear and danger from a safe distance.
Instead of asking about the deceased’s age and cause of death, more thoughtful or meaningful questions might focus on the fullness of the person’s life, rather than their end. Better questions focus on who they were, how they lived, what they loved, the impact they had, and how they’ll be remembered.
I met my friend, Joe, at a Rotary Club meeting. As soon as I made a sarcastic remark and he laughed, I knew we were a good match. He was a talker, and I was a listener—a perfect, symbiotic relationship. We’d get together for lunch or dinner regularly, and our time together was a beautiful blend of laughter and stories.
Joe was an eclectic guy. He was an accomplished pianist, a church organist, a professional model who had traveled widely, and a childcare worker. He was both deeply religious and quite irreverent. His favorite biblical readings were the beatitudes and psalms, and he was as likely to be humming a hymn as he was a jazz standard or a Broadway showtune.
Joe passed away at home, just as he wished, with hospice care. He didn’t fear death. He saw it not as an end but as a new beginning. He wanted people to remember him as he was before his illness—a man who found joy in the absurdities of life and believed that humor was the best medicine. He saw his final days as a time of personal growth for himself and everyone around him, an idea that brought him a profound sense of peace.
In his final act of irreverence, Joe requested no service, no eulogy, and no obituary. He also knew that I would find a way to honor him anyway. And so, in an act of respectful defiance, I’m sharing this story and, for the record, omitting his last name—even though I’m pretty sure he’d have gotten a kick out of seeing it in print.