Perhaps I should be dead, but I’m not even moribund, really. At least I don’t feel like death in imminent. I’m just not sure I should be alive. I take seventeen pills a day. Are pharmaceuticals keeping me alive? It’s interesting how the plethora of pills gradually grows as doctors detect failures or diminished effectiveness in some aged organs.
Young people should remain aware that old codgers, guys with sparse hair and slight limps, were not always so. At least some of us were adventurers and risk takers, especially in our teens. Some of us who were lucky to be born to ambitious, successful parents had facilities to be bad. I raced sports cars, I shot rapids in a canoe, I drove daringly on night highways, and I’m still here and happy. Not all my friends from the days of adventure are still alive.
All the girls I dated in high school are dead. Almost all my cousins in my age group, male and female, are dead. Many of my frat pals are dead. Most people my age are dead. One of my brothers is dead. The youngest and I are fine. My first wife is wheelchair bound and alone with our son to help her. My second wife is a tragic sociopath who lives on the street or in shelters. My third wife is a sadly disillusioned matron, traveling through a false life that exists only in her injured mind.
My fourth wife is a wonder. She is beautiful, intelligent, educated, efficient, sensitive and talented. She earned my love with her sincerity and intelligent application of behavior that washed away my doubts. I realize now what a good woman, a good wife should be. I was erroneous in my previous choices, partly because I didn’t know that a person could be as good as is my wife.
I continue to live my life, adjusting for the diminished capabilities. I walk less and more slowly. I draw and write more. I absorb all the international news in which I’m interested and discuss it with my long-time friend daily, on long distance telephone.
Most people my age are dead. I continue on, finding life interesting, as does my friend.