We all have a definite rendezvous with our destiny

I'm sorry to be the bearer of potentially upsetting news, but we're all going to die.

And that has nothing to do with the novel coronavirus pneumonia pandemic sweeping the globe.

To be blunt about it, dying is a seldom discussed fact of life.

More people have been pondering their mortality in recent months, especially older members of society (present company included) who seem more prone to death when infected with the virus.

You realize you're getting old when you have trouble counting the people you've known who have died. It's a realization that creeps up on you, much like the grim reaper himself.

I've been beside two people as they've died: one a young girl with a progressive brain disorder, and the other a frail, old woman. The death rattle when they breathed their last sounded the same in both cases－quiet but powerful in its finality.

And in both cases it heralded a sense of relief that their suffering was over.

I've had a few close calls myself, mainly down to gross stupidity and/or inebriation (not always my own). And an occasionally reliable source told me a priest wanted to give me the last rites when I was born.

I'm not sure that whatever doesn't kill you makes you stronger, but it certainly makes you aware of the transient nature of life－as well as prompting short-lived resolutions in adulthood to get your act together.

I was working in Hong Kong one night more than a decade ago when a colleague and friend died from a heart attack at Happy Valley racecourse.

At least he died doing something he enjoyed－having a bet on the horses－but I'll never forget the look on his face before his cremation at the local funeral home. It was the first time I'd ever seen him not smiling.

The Associated Press Stylebook used by China Daily advises against using euphemisms for death, like passed on or passed away, except in a direct quote.

But while calling a spade a spade is usually best practice, the sheer volume of novel coronavirus stories in the past couple of months has led to some understandable variation.

The lengths people go to in order to avoid using the D-word can be downright funny, as the Monty Python comedy team proved with their famous dead parrot sketch.

After complaining that the Norwegian Blue he'd just bought had been nailed to its perch, only to be told it was "pining for the fjords", John Cleese (Mr Praline) rattles off an inspired explosion of euphemisms (translated from the original, regionally accented English).

"He's not pining! He's passed on! This parrot is no more! He has ceased to be! He's expired and gone to meet his maker! He's a stiff! Bereft of life, he rests in peace! If you hadn't nailed him to the perch he'd be pushing up the daisies! His metabolic processes are now history! He's off the twig! He's kicked the bucket, he's shuffled off his mortal coil, run down the curtain and joined the bleeding choir invisible!! THIS IS AN EX-PARROT!!"

At the most basic level, for deuterostomia－the branch of the animal kingdom we belong to－stuff goes in one end, out the other, and, in the end, we die.

And that's something we'll just have to live with.