For all our lovable foibles, the human species can’t quit its most pronounced quirk: We overthink death to death. On the subject the mind often wanders to Woody Allen, the messiah of mortem meditation and mirth. The king of kicking the bucket nicely sums up humanity’s secret confession: “I’m not afraid of death; I just don’t want to be there when it happens.” While wintering in Florida, I’ve cultivated a freak worst-case scenario in which I’m unceremoniously pounded by a killer coconut