My father-in-law always said he hoped he could live to be a hundred. He is now 89 and still in fairly good health. The only problem is that a couple of years ago he developed Alzheimer’s and is now confined to a care facility. As I think about him and others I find myself wondering whether growing old is really all that great. If you are one who is in good health perhaps it would be a good thing, but I believe the odds are stacked against that happening. I have always said I don’t want to live to be real old. This poem expresses some of my sentiments.
Living to be 94
If I live to be 94
What friend would come knocking at my door
Being that they’d all gone before
Or maybe they came and I remember no more
Since those memories seem to go right out the door
Why would I want to be that old
Why would one want to be so bold
To out-live all my friends of old
And spend my last doing what I’m told
Not a great option for me…
When death comes passing at 84
I just might hitch a ride while I am sure
That growing old appeals no more
When my only friend left is Arthur Itis
The world can surely do without us
Death, come grab me before 94
For I won’t want to be here anymore!
Photos: Dwight L.