Cliff and I were watching the latest episode of The Mentalist, which I had recorded on DVR. We saw a lady die a very dramatic death. Then we looked at one another and smiled, knowing nobody really dies that way.
But Cliff and I remember playing cowboys and Indians, or various kinds of war, when we were kids. Kids knew how to die back then, because we learned how to die while watching our favorite TV shows.
The bad guys would take a bullet in the chest, then put both hands to the wound and groan.
Slowly, agonizingly, they'd fall to the ground and roll over a few times. And with a final gasp, they'd die. It could take five minutes to die a proper death.
That's how my nephew Larry and I played it. But when it was only the two of us, something happened that you never saw on The Lone Ranger or Wild Bill Hickok.
We resurrected and morphed into another cowboy or Indian, because we weren't done playing yet.
Don't tell me there's no life after death.