What do I Want to do With the Rest of my Life
Remember back when family and friends asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up? It seems years ago doesn’t it? But as I near that ripe old age of 60 in April, I am asking myself what do I want to do with the rest of my life.
Is it over at 60? No, of course not; unless I let it happen. I am on a swinging door it seems of late. As Al makes his way closer to heaven’s door, I find myself…
Remember back when family and friends asked you what you wanted to be when you grew up? It seems years ago doesn’t it? But as I near that ripe old age of 60 in April, I am asking myself what do I want to do with the rest of my life.
Is it over at 60? No, of course not; unless I let it happen. I am on a swinging door it seems of late. As Al makes his way closer to heaven’s door, I find myself questioning myself. What happens next?
When the moment arrives and Hospice makes those final words of Al’s passing, how will I be? Will I shiver as the Medical Supply Company rings my doorbell, requesting the loaned bed and accessories? Will my legs quiver, will I feel faint?
How will I react when I walk into Al’s room and he isn’t there? When the room looks void, although I will see all of his personal belongings. Will I fall to the floor and finally let those tears fall? Will I run for my bedroom and bury my head under the covers and not come out for hours?
I realize this too shall pass. This chapter will close with a soft stoke of a brush. My broken heart will begin to heal without my realizing it. Will I get up in the morning and walk my routine to Al’s room and say good morning to an empty room?
At this moment it is so scary. My sibling, my family will all be in heaven and I will remain glued to soil, waiting my turn to leave. But what about in between, what will I do? I can’t stay here locked inside my home. I just know I won’t be able to deal with it.
I have visions of taking my camera and heading to the park. I see myself taking photos of people holding hands, children laughing, birds flying, planes soaring. But what will I do next with them?
Others have gone down this road before me. There have been losses of spouses, siblings, parents, friendships, so I can do it too right? Just one foot in front of the other. A short walk to a door that I can turn the knob to open.
So why am I so scared? I guess it is because I have lost myself along the path. I forget who I was before I took on the task of being a caregiver, but I have another chance to be me. I can sit down on my couch one day and look around and ask myself, what do I want to do with the rest of my life.
Who I am 