Not to be alarmed, dear Reader, I haven’t been diagnosed with any conditions that might preview my shuffle off this mortal coil sooner rather than later. But…c’mon…it’s imminent, and when I remind myself of this inevitability with each morning awakening, then I truly am, to use an oft-tossed word these days…WOKE!
To ease my survivors, notably familial, through mundanities such as inheritance, bills, financial doings, my wife and I have taken steps: will-check; dual access to bank accounts-covered. I’ve hidden clues around the house to be discovered after my corporeal vessel has been disposed. Consider it a scavenger hunt in the truest sense, Sharon. And my shell of dead flesh-harvested. My intention is to donate functioning organs and then some medical school can have the leftovers.,
Here’s the fun part…getting ready for the mythical ferry, piloted by Charon, the ultimate UberLyft to the next __ ? __. Now this ferryman to Hades has been storied as a morose, grisly fellow who expects compensation for his shuttle service, the reward found as a coin in the mouth of the fare. But by giving up my body for the use of students in medical training, won’t I be cheating the pilot of his payment?
I have time to work on this conundrum; stay with me, Charon, we good.
So, in my preparation toward death, I live more intentionally. I constantly remind myself that nothing is without a cost, an effort, but paradoxically, gifts fall on us daily. For these presents, I am PRESENT. Grateful. I’ve experienced the truth that in celebrating with gratitude, solutions present themselves readily after problems are assessed.
Now let’s focus on my preparation toward living, going forth in a serviceable body with a clear and nimble mind.
My young son Gabe gifted his parents, this past week for Hanukah, sessions of strength & performance coaching at a gym downtown. Of course I appreciate gifts from family, and Gabe is generous. Long ago I learned the importance of graciousness in receiving gifts, even items not necessarily desired, like a necktie, or soap-on-a-rope, so I humored my son. However, I had no intention to travel out of the home to work out.
Today I accompanied him to said gym and met the coach for my initial assessment.
I need work.
To date, my daily regimen has included morning stretches immediately upon waking, followed by intentional breathing as I stretch some more and then I hold balance positions, and on some days mix in free weights for range of motion. Today I learned it’s not for naught, but…it ain’t enough.
Speaking of balance, Gabe wants the balance of my life to be as comfortable as I can make it. Son Nathan and his wife provided us our grandson in July, thus I’ve extended my intended living another decade, formerly set at 80, now revised to 90 good years so I can see Frank James into manhood.
Beginning this afternoon, having met my new coach, I’m on my way towards a more durable physical plant, complete with goals and accountability.
Remember Charon? Well, I can sing a song for my passage…perhaps Foghat’s Slow Ride. I can substitute my mandolin for the Orphean lyre and pick my way through Hangman’s Reel. I could recite a poem, maybe a haiku…
upon my bodily
demise, allow my soul free
when this vessel dies