I woke up this morning with the remnant of a dream in my head. I had gone to Canada with the dog Filbrix and wasn’t allowed in because I didn’t have a passport. There was another problem. Without a passport to get into Canada, I was somehow excluded from going back to the United States. Well, that bullet was dodged when a former college roommate came by and allowed me back into the states riding on his coattails.
When I woke up, it was with the realization that the roommate had been gone for the better part of twenty years. From what I could gather, he took his own life. Typical for him. What I’ve wondered in the years since is whether or not someone got a last visit from him as he once told us he would like to make his visit.
He envisioned having an “Enemies List,” one which would be rated and updated constantly until the day he died. He was to stipulate in his will that the person at the top of his enemies list would get that last visit. The executor of his estate would show up at that enemy’s home, spread his ashes in the middle of the living room floor, declare “He would have wanted it that way,” and leave.
I’ve mentioned my former roommate’s wish to others over the past several years, mindful of what chaos the move would make. I’ve briefly considered doing the same myself.
What stuck in my head, and was made clearer a short time later, was the old saw that life is short and not to be wasted. Or, better than that, getting old is a luxury not everyone has.
Scrolling through Twitter later this morning, I encountered a re-post of a woman’s decision to post nude photos of herself on one platform or another. Her rationale was that she had paid her dues and was finally proud of her body now that she was in her mid-fifties. She had a word or two to say beyond that to the extent that because she was in her mid-fifties, she had been scolded for posting her photo because of her age. She was told that after about the age of thirty, no one would be interested in seeing her in her birthday suit. Her position was that one should look beyond calendar years; that no one should have to be faced with a cut-off when it came to appreciating their body.
What she said is another way of saying that getting old is a luxury not everyone has.
In that past year, I have been afforded that luxury while others have had it taken away from them. I was lucky enough to have had a cancer found and exorcised from my body before it could get a toehold and make my life a living hell – presuming that the toehold took and had migrated to another part of my body.
My stepdaughter’s fiancee wasn’t as lucky. He had a tumor which had migrated to his head from his esophagus. In a matter of about two months from the time the tumors were discovered, he was gone. To say the least, my stepdaughter was (and still is) devastated.
Like my roommate, he was robbed of attaining his fiftieth birthday.
Getting old is a luxury not everyone has.
I look in the mirror and I see someone who needs to lose another thirty or forty pounds. I see someone who bears the visible scars of having been under the knife four times, as well as other bumps and bruises accumulated over the years (a fifth scar has been seen only by the doctor who put it there). I’m told that I will likely need cataract surgery sometime within the next five years. I’m not as strong as I used to be, leading to frustration at not being able to do certain jobs around the house.
At the same time, though, I still have the ability to laugh, love, and live. I may not be the richest person in the world, but I certainly appreciate having the luxury of growing old!
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bdharrellauthor 