At this point, any future thinking revolves around plans to visit someone or do errands or go out to eat. Since my brother’s death this past May, I have been taking stock, trying to come to terms, maybe, with my own mortality and the fact that there is much less life in front of me than is now water under the bridge. It’s sobering, but I know I can’t live in that state. It’s rather depressing.
I still enjoy having something to look forward to, and the grandkids keep me grounded in the present. But this is tempered anymore by the realization that “Some day, I’m going to…” isn’t said with the same open-endedness, as if there will always be time to get to everything. Maybe there’s a heightened sense of urgency to pick and choose, and follow through.
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