Watch little kids in a playground, on the beach, practically anywhere. They don’t walk; they run. I guess I was once like them, but today I couldn’t run if I tried, although, for the moment, I can still walk. I have friends my age (78) who avoid elevators, but not because of claustrophobia; they prefer to take the stairs, sometimes two at a time. I know one guy in his late sixties who does not walk up stairs; he runs ! The idiot thinks he’s still a kid.
I act my age, but I’m not proud of the shape I’m in. Too sedentary (this damned Blog !), too much weight, too bloody lazy. I know it will get worse. Too many warning signs, impossible to ignore. When people used to tell me that alcohol was killing me slowly, I replied that I was in no hurry. Having gotten on the wagon five years ago, at least I won’t drink myself to death. (Smoking I gave up thirty years ago – but the damage was done.) The big danger for me is not that I will kill myself by my life-style but that I will bore other people to death. Some day not far off they will politely say that they are sorry I croaked. But croak I will. I just hope I can do it with dignity and without too much pain. One thing is certain : I will do it without fear.
There will be no death-bed Confession, no Last Sacraments. The last sacraments I received and administered were nearly forty years ago. I’m not afraid of the void waiting for me. Life has been very full for me, pressed down and flowing over. I’m the luckiest man alive. When I’m dead, you’ll just have to accept the fact that I will never write a post on this Blog again. I know some who will thank God.