My Death Year 2038 -- Living to 85

OK, as we all know, I'm going to live till I'm 85 years old. And we all know what year it is now. Which means, by the simple calculations I'm able to do, that my death year is 2038. (Depending on when my birthday is, it could go a certain extent into 2039, but you wouldn't really think I'd wait till the very last possible day, but who knows?)

I wonder what 2038 will be like for me, knowing what I know. It's a weird thing to contemplate, but I do believe it's still better to know. Because it frees me up in all the other years so I don't have to worry about it. It's a blessing knowing no random diseases are going to kill me till then -- very freeing. And I promise not to pray for an extension beyond 85, so 2038 (or into 2039) will be it.

I can't guarantee, though, that I won't be a little weird if it does come down to the very last day of my 85th year. Because I can't picture it just being a minute after midnight when I turn 85. Since I'd likely be in bed, and I fully expect to be conscious for death.  How about right after morning coffee? I make coffee around 5:40. I might tarry a little longer and enjoy my last cup. But what's the use of just one cup, when I have a full pot? It could be I'll drink it to the last drop, then go.

Or, it could be I'll live through lunch. But why eat if I'm going to die? I don't eat just for the enjoyment of it, but for sustenance, which implies a future. I've always thought the stupidest thing they do on Death Row is give the prisoners a last meal. It's a waste of food and time, watching the guy sop up the last bits of gravy.

That day, if I linger, I might make it till mid-afternoon. It actually makes sense that I would. My baby book says I was born around 3:30 p.m., so what time for my death would be more logical than that? It's probably encoded in my DNA. Still, there's no guarantee.

It could be the good Logos field will want me to have the beauty of a nice evening. I always love evenings -- a beautiful sunset, then the first appearing of the stars, the very last stars I'll ever behold in this present body. We came from the stars; that's also in my DNA. I can see my old withered body reaching for them, then die and mysteriously wing my upward flight, just a slow purposeful flapping upwards, mounting ever up, past the highest church steeples, and vanish in the great beyond.

Or, as we get later, maybe I will yet linger while time presses on. Between 8 and midnight, I see no reason to sleep. I'll probably go to my bookcase and say farewell to some old friends. I love the great authors. You know the ones. I can see me touching the spines of those great books, saying goodbye to each one and "See ya soon!" By now I'm wiping away a tear or two, thinking, "Today my precious treasures on the shelf, tomorrow 5 for a dollar at Goodwill."

If I make it to 10 or 11 -- I know I'll be tired, and yet surely I'll be easily revived. It can't be long now. Between 11 and 12, if it comes to that, I can see myself deep in prayer, and maybe even singing the old spiritual song I used to sing in church:

"Build me a cabin in the corner of gloryland,
In the shade of the tree of life that it may ever stand
Where I can hear the angels sing and shake Jesus' hand,
Build me a cabin in the corner of gloryland."

If I'm still here as it nears 12, I'm reaching out my arms. Old feeble arms I could barely lift at 80. Now they're sturdy and strong, as if iron, as I await my deliverance. Just before midnight, then, I ascend, my body falling gently, in slow motion, to my couch.

Great News! I'll Die When I'm 85!

I've got great news! I don't die till I'm 85! Isn't that great? That means 24 more years of quality life right here on good old green Mother Earth. I can lay back and really enjoy myself now, without the day-to-day anxiety that shkitttt [throat-cutting phoneme].

And I actually have been very anxious, basically to the point of sweating through my jogging clothes, which I use for pajamas. Tossing and turning, sweating, staring at the ceiling, the physical pain's sometimes too much. I pray, calling out to the Logos field, then I remind myself that calling out isn't necessary, that its presence is in every cell. That's comforting, but, still, who wants to die? Not me.

Now, as you may recall, it just so happens that I have plenty of experience with Death as an entity, the force of death personified (see links below). I've been present when various ones have died. If interested, you can read about it. All that said, it's no big surprise that he appeared again, this time not in his usual black robe but in a white one, looking as kind as the Wizard of Oz in his human shyster form.

First, he thanked me for our friendship. I asked what he's been up to. He gave the throat-cutting phoneme, brevity being the heart of wit. Then we got down to business, my anxieties, with him asking if I really wanted to know. Finally, I nodded, adding, "I really really really really really really want to know..." At which point he said simply, "85. Mark it down." He touched my shoulder and imparted certain other knowledge without needing to speak. And with that he was gone.

"Oh boy! 85! Around 24 years of added life!" Because he didn't say it'd happen the day I turned 85. It could be the very last day of my 85th year! How about that! That's closer to 25 years! A whole quarter of a century! In joy, I sang the song "76 Trombones," knowing I have 9 more trombones than the title of the song, which is a ton of brass! The last time that much brass was in one place was when the Joint Chiefs told LBJ Vietnam was lost. Although it continued to burn.

OK, I said Death imparted to me certain other knowledge. In that were warnings, 1) that if I tried to commit suicide, the guarantee was off, and, 2) that foolhardy behavior such as playing on the interstate, deep-sea diving, and being a policeman in a tough metro area could be met by death. But "normal" foolhardy behavior, like eating wrong, not exercising enough, and quarrels at family reunions, would not be met by death, but could be met with physical/mental incapacitation. So if we get into it at a reunion next year I could be a vegetable for 23 years. Ouch. Reminder to Self: Leave weapons home.

Still, all this is OK; I can accept it. I'm not going to commit suicide. I'm not going to play on the interstate. I don't live anywhere near a sea. And I have no desire to be a cop. I will try my best to eat right. I hope to start exercising as soon as the spirit moves me. I'm going to do my best...

So 24 years left! Wow, that's great! No more anxiety. What shall I do first? You know what? 24 years is quite a while. I might lie in bed and read for a while. I'm a little drowsy. Then I've got the whole day before me!


Death Links:
Death -- I Now Pronounce You Dead
Out Drinking with Death
Death Goes to the Dentist with Me
Death -- When Your Number's Up
Walt's Suicide -- Death by Water
The Gaping Maw of Death (Woof! Woof!)
My Picnic With Death
The Chilling Hand of Death
Her Parachute Didn't Open