Today I found out when I’m supposed to die.

I haven’t told the wife yet but I think she probably knows.

Earlier today the planets aligned just right and I found myself with about 10 minutes of idle time at work.

So I got on my taxpayer-supplied, government-owned computer and cruised the internet for a bit.

All in the interest of research.

I found myself at a website where I could take this test and it would tell me how long I have to live.

You know: do I exercise, what do I eat, smoke, drink or if I get stressed out?

All the usual stuff your doctor asks you and we lie about because we don’t want to look like a boob.

This time I tried to be truthful since no one was looking back at me in astonishment.

I finished it up and clicked submit.
The answer came back.

It says I died three years ago.

Funny, I don’t feel dead, not that I have any experiencer with that.

Unless, of course, I’m really dead.
And it could be.

My wife occasionally tells me I need a shower because I stink.
Dead people stink, so maybe I am.

After my dog died someone looked at me and said I looked “like death warmed over”.

I thought I was just sad.
Maybe I was wrong.

Sometimes I walk down the hallway and say hello to a lady going the other way.

She ignores me.
Maybe I’m dead and not really there.

I always thought being dead had something to do with sitting on clouds, and wings, and stuff like that.

Maybe not.

The test has to be correct, after all I found it on the internet.

I wonder if the IRS would buy that.

When you get older you think occasionally about how it all might end.

In my case, I choose to ignore it but the wife brings it up once in a while.

I have a friend that every morning, the first thing he does is get the newspaper to read the obituaries.

He says he wants to know if any of his friends have died.

It seems to me if the dead person was a friend he’d know about it before the newspaper.

Then he says the paper will usually note when the service is.

So, why is he interested in going to the service?

To show respect, he says.

The time to show someone respect is when they’re alive and can appreciate it, not when they’re dead and could care less.

The wife doesn’t like that.

She says you show respect to the rest of the family by going, whether you knew the deceased well or not.

Okay – I’ll give her that, but since no one invites me to those things I suppose I won’t be judged.

And she goes by herself if it’s for someone she knows and I don’t.

I can count the number of funerals I’ve gone to in my entire life on one hand.

They’ve been close family members, otherwise I usually skip them.

Cold hearted?

Some may think so but I don’t.

I prefer to remember someone when they were around and not as a box of ashes on a pedestal with people telling long stories about how wonderful he or she was.

Then it’s followed with socializing over the free food catching up with old friends.
A celebration of life they call it now.

I like that, but I’d rather just work it through like I did with my stories of my dog.

I’m sure few who read it really cared.

And that’s okay, it wasn’t written for them.
Just me.

The wife has asked me more than once what kind of service I would want.

I tell her I don’t care.
I won’t be there – so to speak.

Funerals are for the living and some need them.
That’s good they have the opportunity.

Some people don’t need them, like me.
That’s okay too.

This is my medical weekend.

One doctor’s appointment today and another tomorrow morning.
A lot of things aren’t working well, mostly having to do with getting around.

I go see them and they nod, make some marks in my records, leave the room and I go home.
Nothing really accomplished.

I found myself standing in front of the refrigerator this afternoon looking at the long list of things my wife wants done and count the increasingly large number of projects started and left unfinished.

It’s a bit distressing to remember how I used to be the greatest handyman around the home.

Always building, fixing or doing something.

Now she takes out the garbage and does the shopping and I sit like a sack of potatoes at home.

The wife says it beats the alternative.
Not really.

If you can’t live life, then you’re not living.

What’s important to remember is never give up and never give in.

When I went to the medical office building this morning, there were dozens of old, sick people going in.

Some in wheelchairs, many with walkers, most carrying their oxygen tanks.

I don’t have it so bad.

I can still get around – although it can be difficult at times.

I still have the motivation to try something – anything – to improve what I have now.

I haven’t given up and will not give in.

It’s difficult without my best friend to soldier on alone but one has to make the best out of what you have.

Tomorrow I drag my sorry butt back to the gym and see if I can turn back the clock to before all this stuff started three years ago.

It will be an interesting journey and I look forward to it.

We all have a choice.
You work to get better or you don’t.

But you don’t give up and you don’t give in.

Remember Yoda?
“Do or do not. There is no try.”