Today I Wrote My Obituary
Today I wrote my obituary. I’m not dying — at least not now. But I am 76 and life itself is the real terminal illness.
The end of the year has most news, online and print, reviewing celebrities who’ve passed in the previous 12 months. I usually don’t read those since I read them at the time of the deaths. In fact, I’ve found that I’m reading obituaries more as I’ve grown older. I wonder how many of us elderly tend to do that. I seem to be interested in the ages and the causes of the deaths, probably comparing them to my age an my medical issues.
I quietly mourn many of the deaths — like Mathew Perry’s too soon passing. But he had put himself on that slippery slope of self-medicating his psychological problems. It’s not that I’m free of psych issues — depression and PTSD are two of my ongoing diagnoses along with chronic pain syndrome. I’m on Oxy 5 mg for the chronic back pain and I take that low dosage sparingly — afraid of enjoying the relief too much. The thoughts “I can handle it. I know what I’m doing” have ruined many healthcare professionals.
I don’t intend to die any time soon. I have too many people to badger and too many stories locked in my brain needing to be written.
But back to my obit.
My obituary will be just one more thing for my daughter to deal with. And the last thing I can make…
