At Least They're Committed

I am intrigued by the message of a popular guy on FB Reels/TikTok, @MichaelArmstrong444, who talks about children who have reported past lives to their parents, and its scientific basis. The overarching angle is that we stick with our family group — we tend to choose to — life after life. That’s great! But I pray if that’s the case you’re provided an opt-out clause. I know my Dad — and eventually uncle — would ‘live’ a lot more happily ever after in the afterlife if they were to not run into their evil mother again. If she made it there in the first place, that is.

I made it to 62 and I’m not entirely sure why I consider it a milestone, but I do. Kind of like, “4-5 . . . still alive!” Maybe it’s because I could get Social Security if I wanted to. I won’t yet, but I’m not going to wait too long because I don’t want to live that long and I could be socking that money away in savings for D and my children.

My dear Aunt Joan died last night. She had been battling dementia for more than eight years and was in a care facility for at least the past five. I’m happy for her. She’s free. My mom was grateful that she got to be with her one final time last month; and my aunt’s children are waiting until spring for the celebration of life so that Mom — and probably a couple of us kids — can be there.

Am I happy to still be here? I can’t say that I am, really. Beyond my circle of friends and family I see little but greed, blight and despair. But evidently God still has plans for me, so I’ll keep walking. (Flash of me in the casket and another of being sliced nearly in half go here.) And, holy cow do I love my family and I want to be here for them as long as I’m able to contribute to their lives. Oh, and most definitely maybe make the world a little better for them before I go.

My worst fear is being a burden — a lot of us in this generation fear that more than death.

Speaking of death, let’s do the Proverbial Life Review at 62!

Things I’m grateful for:

• A family I get to adore and cherish
• The fact they like to hang out with me
• Bunches of friends who are easy to be around
• Springs and falls — my favorite seasons
• Angels
• Science
• Technology
• Wonderfully eclectic and eccentric coworkers
• Having weekends off
• The knowledge that I’ve helped people through my journalism career
• Inability to be dishonest
• Great hair
• The ability to walk and hike
• My house and beautiful yard
• Max
• Gardening
• Chickens
• High tea at the Brown Palace
• The Park Home
• The safety of my children and grandchildren
• A quick celebratory trip to Atlantic City

Things I’m not so happy about:

• Breathing (at the moment)
• Snow
• Exhaustion
• Waiting
• Worrying about my children
• The cold
• A cold
• Humans
• Driving in the snow to high tea at the Brown Palace
• Not being able to see the Park Home for five months
• The flights to Atlantic City and back
• Feeding and watering the chickens in the bitter cold
• Worrying about Max

I’m sensing a trend here. All the best things in life are wrapped between unlikable elements of living. And I can’t help but notice the list of things I’m not so happy about is shorter. That’s good, right? Of course it is.

At the high tea, we talked about friends’ parents who died soon after retirement — all the waiting for good times, travel, family catch-up washed away in a sea of sickness and death. I recently took $9,000 out of one IRA to fix up the sunroom. I’m going to take another chunk out next year for a down payment on a bigger car (although we might be able to build our savings and not have to) so we can haul all the grandsons around. Then in 2025, I’m taking my entire family on vacation — all 14 of us and more if there are babies!

If D and I end up in a small assisted living apartment near the children and grandchildren vs. the home we love, so be it. At least our family will have great memories of all of us being together and, unlike some well-to-do and stingy relatives (not on my side, of course), they won’t need to be waiting around for us to die to be able to help out their own kids with money they inherit.

Unless, after all that, I’m crippled, ill, languishing, of course — which would mean wishing death for me would be compassionate.

Be free, my dear aunt. With your renewed life force and spirit, please give everyone I love there a big-ass hug from me.