Getting On
They always say growing old is not for the faint of heart. And I believe them. Mostly as I’ve aged, I’ve ignored it. It never really mattered. I expected to die before I reached 50, anyhow, because my mother died at 49. So, when I reached the half century mark, everything after that was gravy. Age was just a number. Then I hit 70 and I began to hear every movement of the cosmic minute hand as it went around the dial.
Those early seventies were further complicated, by the illness and eventual demise of my wife, right before I hit the quarter century mark. After she passed, it was me and my own mortality. It would have been easy to give in and let go. Luckily, I had friends and family. They helped keep me going, much like one of those beach balls you see occasionally at sporting events, where the crowd keeps bouncing it along. That was me, staying alive, with a little help from my friends.
Now, here I am at 77. That feels like a big number. Scary almost. Most people younger than me probably look at it and think this guy could die tomorrow. But I have news for you. Anyone can die tomorrow. And the actuarial tables say I could live another nine years and if I get to 86 it gives me another five years and at 91 I have three. So, like I did when I walked to the South Rim at Big Bend this year, I’m just going to put one foot in front of the other, keep a song in my heart, love in my life, and see how far I can get, laughing as I go. It could be fun.