Working Backwards from Death

    I don’t want to die.  Ever.  For a long time I insisted I wouldn’t.  It was a semi-humorous form of denial but this insistence bothered  my youngest child.

    “Don’t say that, Mom,” she’d say.  “You have to die and I’m afraid you’ll be disappointed when you do.”

    Of course I will.  Whether I continue to claim immortality or take a more realistic attitude, I’ll definitely be disappointed when I die.  But secretly I know I will sometime.  Everyone will.

    Decade Eight is an excellent decade to prepare some of the legal stuff and other leaving-behind issues.  Actually an earlier decade would be better for this preparation but if you, like me, have not done it yet then Eight is high time.

Making or updating a will, appointing a healthcare proxy, and all that other responsible stuff is intimidating.  It’s further complicated by being associated with the unattractive damn truth of death itself.  Ordinarily I would have no idea how to take these responsible steps.  Fortunately I have help.  A younger woman, Chanel Reynolds, has done us all a great service.  She’s combined superb organizational savvy with her own heartbreaking experience in a project: Get Your Shit Together.  There’s a website and checklists, narratives, facebook presence and a blog.

Intro to my Decade Eight

    My Decade Eight began last April when I turned 70.  Seventy is old.  It isn’t like 69, when you can pretty easily convince yourself you’re still middle aged.

    I remember being 15.  Both my mother and grandmother needed help threading needles.  They couldn't see well enough. Neither was a real seamstress but both were menders.  It was a pleasure to see them fixing rips on otherwise perfectly good things.  Their natural industry and thrift had been intensified by Depression Era abhorrence of waste.

    I was happy to thread countless needles for them but had to work to suppress expression of scorn and pity.  I couldn't help noticing that they were just too old to carry on normal life tasks.

    Good grief!  When I stop to consider, neither one of them was as old as 70 then.  When I was 15, Mom was 35 and Grandma was 59.  They were not yet into their Decade Eights - not even their Decade Sevens.

     Age looks different from this vantage point.  I have great plans for this eighth decade.  I won't be doing any mending but I have brightly colored magnifiers from the drug store anyway.

A good decade lies ahead.