Have we exalted longevity over what makes life worth living? And do we infantilise the old? This is an original and moving exploration of illness and death
Theres a Homeric hymn that sings of a mortal man beloved of one of the gods: Eos was goddess of the dawn, and so enamoured was she of Tithonus that she couldnt bear that one day he would die. She begged Zeus that her lover be granted immortality. Too simple was queenly Eos, the poem goes on, she thought not in her heart to ask youth for him, and to strip him of the slough of deadly age.
The two lovers lived in great happiness for many years until Tithonus began to show signs of age. At first Eos banished him from her bed, though she still loved him, and cherished him in her house and nourished him with food and ambrosia. Tortured by his immortality, Tithonuss body continued to fail: he became so weak that he could not even lift his withered limbs. Eos was unable to cure him of his miseries, but because of Zeuss intervention she was equally unable to let him die. Finally, she laid him in a room and put to the shining doors. There he babbles endlessly, and no more has strength such as once he had in his supple limbs.
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