When my Grandfather was my age
He was already gone.
I was young. Dad and his brothers, and some other family members, carried him to a remote grave, it being an old cemetery whose oldest residents had been driven there behind a horse. No accomodation for motor vehicles had ever been made, or was planned. Some markers were wood. As I watched him do this, I knew that his turn would come sooner rather than later- he had already been left for dead three times in his life, and all the time he had was borrowed.
When Dad arrived at this age, Mom began asking him what he wanted for Christmas. She knew that the best time to ask was first thing in the morning after the alarm woke them, he would give an answer before thinking about it. And he did:
“Another year”.
It was all he asked for, for Christmas, those last four years of his life, and he got four. I think the Creator felt he still had things to do that needed doing.
In four years I will be the age my Father was when he died. I am healthier and have more access to better healthcare, so I may live longer, but even so, I have arrived at the moment when I wonder what the Creator has in store for me, the jobs he wants meto do before I’m done.
17 comments Og | Uncategorized

On Tuesday, I’ll do something that my paternal grandfather never did. I’ll celebrate my 48th birthday. Thanks for making me think about that.
Yeah, nothing makes you face that question harder than death, disease or “retirement”…
All The Best,
Frank W. James
The maternal side all lived well into their mid 80’s to mid 90’s (including my great grandmother). Dad’s side, with the exception of my Dad and his mom, did about the same. So I figure there is at least another 14 years to go over here.
Still, have always thought the good Lord is going to keep you here or take you in his own good time, and not when I want to go (or stay).
To bring all of this into somewhat sharper focus, Deb’s mom passed away last night, after an extended battle with various attackers of mind, body, and spirit. So things are a bit at sixes and sevens around here.
Guy, I’m sorry for your loss. Hope everyone gets smoothed out soon.
Frank, I intend to shake your hand on your 90th birthday, and I expect you to get ornerier and grumpier every day until then.
I hear ya, Og. My Dad passed away at 61. I just turned 60.
Granted, he smoked too many cigars and drank way too much and I don’t do that, but I do have his genes, and don’t eat as healthfully as I should.
But, I don’t want to see 100 on tofu, either!
gfa
My dad stroked out at 49. He’s still with us, and I’m grateful that he’s still here to make a big fire at the woods yesterday, but I miss the smart, funny guy he was. I’m 49, and weigh about 50 # more than I should. You think I’d know better.
I’ve done enough and seen enough. If I go now, I am content. But genetically, I’ll probably live another 40 years. I’m not especially looking forward to it.
As the philosopher Neil Diamond points out:
And each one there
Has one thing shared:
They have sweated beneath the same sun,
Looked up in wonder at the same moon,
And wept when it was all done
For being done too soon.
Genetics is a card in the hand. So is circumstance, the choices that we make, and the variance of fortune.
There’s lots of folks who carefully monitor what they eat, exercise religiously, do all the correct medical things … and they’re in the cematary already. And I know plenty of reprobates who are now saying “If I had known I was going to live this long I’da taken better care of myself.”
I think the bigger deal is being grateful for every day. “Every day should be unwrapped just like a precious gift.” Because it is, of course, the present.
(Did I get enough platitudes and jokes in here yet?)
Jenny
Hale. Just to give you something positive to offset your current all too sane view, let’s improve your prospects by altering that old curse.
May you live well through interesting times.
Repeat it silently as you watch, preferably from afar, the soma-laced trek by.
Just waking up every day is a gift.
I’m thinking I can get another 30 pretty easy. The ones after that will be a lot harder. Have friend in his 90’s and I am concerned he seems to be shutting down a little. Still gets up every day though. Most of my imeediate grandparents lived into their 90’s not counting accidents.
Patrick McManus wrote of an old man he went fishing with. ‘Old’ as in “When I honked to let him know I was there, it took him five minutes to make the walk from his door to the car.”
And the man annoyed hell out of him, for he seemed unable to worry about ANYTHING.
One day, as they waited for something to bite, asked him if the idea of war with Russia concerned him.
“Not really.”
And so on, through terrorist attacks, chemical spills, asteroids and alien attacks. Finally asked “How the hell can you not every worry about anything?”
“Well, every morning this wonderful thing happens, and after that nothing really bothers me.”
“What happens?”
“I wake up.”
And yeah, I catch myself wondering what I’m supposed to do at this point?
And when/how do I find out?
My next birthday will be #70. The genetics says I have at least 10 more, possibly 20. Three years of war at high altitude, waiting to take off in fumes of Agent Orange at the jungle airfields, then work as a cop, in and out of meth kitchens in the days when real cops only had one uniform, and it wasn’t a chem-biowar ensemble, some smoking for the first 30 years, and gallons of whisky to purify the innards, who the farge knows how long I’ve got.
All I know is that for all my efforts, my country has gone to the dogs, and the dogs won’t have it. The last few years won’t be much to take to the next life.
[…] Browsing around … enjoying the quiet of the middle of the night when everyone is asleep (a favorite time for me) … and came across this post by Neanderpundit. […]
Belated thank you for the kind words Og! Services are tomorrow, and the folks at work have been outstanding in their support and in allowing both “Dad” and me major amounts of time off to take care of business. The store manager stopped by today to offer his condolences directly to Deb’s dad, as he wasn’t sure if he would be able to make it tomorrow. Now that is a class act.
Nice, Guy. Sometimes people do surprise you.