I was with my six-year-old pal Jacob yesterday. He’s like a grandson to me and he and I love each other dearly. For the last several months, he’s been asking how I got in the wheelchair, and I told him about the car accident and how nothing works below my chest.
Shortly thereafter, he figured out that I was pretty fragile, so he became very protective of me, worried when I drove my wheelchair over grass to get to his T-ball game. He just wanted to make sure I was okay.
Yesterday he asked me if I was going to die. I explained that I was, and he and I talked about was that means. He asked if I was going to die soon because he said his mommy worries about that. Of course, I told him we don’t know when we are going to die, but it did get me thinking.
Now that I am officially 68 years old (well, technically it’s not till June 10), I feel my body is changing and I am having more autonomic dysfunction. It’s almost as though my body is getting tired. I’ve been struggling with my stamina – all the stuff old people experience.
So am I going to die soon? I know this: In all likelihood I will die sooner than I want to, that this life will be pulled from my grasp rather than my letting go.
I think it was Dionne Warwick who sang the song with the lyrics: “I know I’ll never love this way again, so I keep holding on until the love is gone.”
I can’t ever imagine my love of life ever being gone completely.