Old Age is weird

 Here's what there is... people die.

I had two dads, one adopted an one biological.  I wrote a book about my adopted grandfather then about me and mentioned them without noticing a reality.

My dad had a heart attack when my oldest daughter was born -- they were on different floors in same hospital -- he was 66 years old.

My biological father had a heart attack when he was 66 years old.  He was about 12 years younger than my dad.  Both men died when they were seventy-seven years old .... after living almost the exact same number of says between events.

I didn't realize it until I was seventy-eight...and never had a heart attack.  I'm now in my eightieth year and all I can do is occasionally get drunk and wonder why my kids don't have kids.  Then I think of their mother's lines and realize at least two came from lines that were dying out.

Being in my eightieth year places my birth in the middle of World War Two, and living through the Korean War, the Vietnam War, and all the related nonsense that said I should be dead.  As dead as a few family members and a few kids I knew as a child ... and as dead as so many I knew growing up.  And having out lived two women of the four who have been a major part of my life.

Yet here I lay, thinking about being old and wondering if I want a third drink.

My sleep music is on, things are quiet, and I'm writing when I'm not talking to myself.

Events are getting interesting.  But time flies by and the days pass so fast... It is strange to have made it this long.  And to wonder if I can reach the century mark...or maybe the Biblical 120. 

What will tomorrow bring?