When I turned eighty almost four years ago, it seemed to me that I had reached the appropriate time to die. My life has not been one of restraint and caution. I have drunk bourbon daily for more than twenty years. I drink several cups of coffee every day. What’s more, I have smoked tobacco for most of my life, and still enjoy five or six cigarettes every day.
I do not deserve a long life, nor did I expect one. I braced myself, thought about what happens in death, and sat back, waiting for it to come to pass. I waited, and waited, and waited some more.
On the car drive returning to Kansas from Tucson I experienced a moment of truth. I suddenly realized that waiting to die is pretty damn boring. I’m done with that, I thought. I decided to give up the role of distant observer and become a participant again.
When we got back to Kansas, I looked at our home with new eyes – eyes that saw how I’ve let things slide, how stuff has accumulated. I don’t even know what this house contains. So this is where my return to life begins. I have resolved to clean out every drawer, cabinet, and closet, one each day. This alone could take the rest of my life, but it’s interesting, which is more than I can say for waiting to die.
Copyright 2019 by Shirley Domer
