Thoughts about living and dying.

I woke up this morning. Wondering. How much longer I’ll remain competent. To fully manage my life. Living alone. Much of the time. Though I flit about. Back and forth. Between Minnesota  and Sardinia.   Maintaining daily contact with my beloved Italian true love.  Either in the flesh. Together. Or from a distance. On Skype and by email. Meanwhile, I age. Headed for my 80s in the next couple of years. The odds are. That I won’t maintain the same physical, mental and emotional stamina. Everything will be on the wane. I see the future. The past, too.  My wife Jeanne died over 7 years ago. From Alzheimer’s. Yes, a steady deterioration. A fate. That maybe some day I will have to face, too. If I live long enough. I’m aware. Of perils. That come with age. I try to maintain a normal life. But I’m not getting any younger. I still travel. I write. I walk 10 miles a day. Ride a bike. Maintain a home. Do routine chores. Shop. Cook for myself. Manage my finances. Many, many things. I’m a proficient juggler. But I begin to wonder. Will I always be capable. Of juggling everything. Life itself. Anyway, will I know? When I’m no longer competent. Will I deteriorate slowly? Without even knowing it. Will I sink into an abyss? Or will I some day merely drop dead? Be here one moment. Gone the next. What’s the preferred way to go?  To end life.  Should I make the choice? To live or die. Or should I just let it happen. Naturally. Whatever way. By chance. And continue to take life. One day at a time. And not get ahead of myself. Tell me, which way was life meant to be lived?  And ended, too. –Jim Broede