A couple of my friends and I were chatting a while back about all the sickness in the world today. I do believe that it’s been here all along, but back then it just wasn’t spoken of. Now, with social media, we know everything about everybody (sometimes almost before they know it themselves). But, I do remember when I was growing up that people in my home town would die and I never even wondered why or how they died – it was just a given that old people died, right? Was it that way for you, too? Now, my friends and I are the age that many of those people were back then and we don’t think that WE are as old as we thought THEY were back then. So, if we are now that age, is it time for us to die? Will the upcoming generation wonder about how and why we died or will they, too, just think that we were old people and that it was our time?
Death is such a hard thing and it seems as though it sometimes just takes forever to happen, if you know what I mean. I told MH that I sometimes think it would have been easier to live back in covered wagon days like Ma and Pa Ingals.
We would have crossed the Mississippi in our covered wagons, fought the Indians, and suffered through winter with only a possum or raccoon coat. We would have watched as the men in our settlement cut down trees, drag them to a clearing, and build us a house. To those back then, this house was their castle; to us now, we realize that it was a shack.
We would have spent Sundays at the village church worshiping God and thanking Him for all we had, which many times was almost nothing. We would have welcomed the spring, plowed the field with our horse (if we were lucky and old Buckeye had not been killed in the Indian raid or had not starved to death during the long cold winter), and planted our seeds until daylight was gone. At harvest time, we would harvest our crops and pray that we would have a bit of profit to buy more seeds for next spring.
We would birth our babies and pray that they would make it through the winter and someday have an easier life than that which we were living. At the end of the day, we would cut a chunk of venison off the carcass hanging from the rafter on the front porch or make rabbit stew from the rabbits that our old men had gone out and hunted. We would thank the Lord for His many blessings and eat our rabbit stew with day old beans. Once a week we would wash up in the river and nightly we would sleep on a lumpy hay mattress, dreaming of a better life.
Then we would get up and do it all over again the next day. After many moons of this hard life, we would just drop dead from heart failure at the ripe old age of 36. Sometimes, that seems much easier than this crap we are dealing with today.
THOUGHTS ABOUT MY THOUGHTS: I need to find something else to think about besides why old people (my age) die. Maybe it’s because I had to go out last week to have an ultrasound of both legs checking for more clots. Today I had to go have a Echocardiogram and tomorrow morning I’m scheduled for a Brain MRI. I need a day at the pool. Or a shot of Fireball. Or a night at the movies. Or a lunch with my Hens. Getting old is for the birds.