Dear Life,

At the age of 82, stooped, gnarled hands, knobbly knees … i pause and marvel at this body that houses me. I feel my heart beat. Steady. My blood thrums in my veins. My brain is sharp. I know the clock is ticking but so far my body and mind have stood rock solid by me for all these years. 0946b0911defb3036cd61b9d64ed1b29.jpg

I’ve experienced joy, love, sorrow, loss. My heart has sung and it has ached. My liver has too.

In my 20s, i didn’t give my body a thought. It was there and i pushed it as far as i could. I whipped it. I disregarded it. I took pleasure from it. I took it for granted. It absorbed all the pressure and unpredictability i put it through and yet, it stuck with me. It must have complained. It must have felt abused. I couldn’t have cared less. I was young and i was driven. I was the master of my destiny.

As i grew older, i had to get my machine serviced from time to time. A fracture. Pneumonia. Appendicitis. Flu. Heart attack. Diminished eye sight. Diminished hearing. Stuff. Each breakdown reminded me of its value. This wonderful machine that works so hard. Relentlessly. No weekends off. No power naps. No holidays. Definitely, no vacation. It keeps at it. Noiselessly. On and on. I feel such admiration and awe for this incredible gift. There is nothing i wouldn’t do for it as appreciation.

Maybe, its that partnership I formed with my body that allowed it to give me its best. Or maybe I’m one of the lucky ones. Whatever it is … i am grateful.

I pray I’m also one of those lucky ones to pass over in my sleep. Peaceful and happy.

Affectionately,
A young old man

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