text: Based after an encounter I had as a mailman, wrote a few years back just found it. Journal entry December 5th, 2014: Today I woke. I am not sure how to feel about it. I wake up stiff. Well, not so much stiff as stuck. I can’t sleep long. It’s as if my bodies only solace is rejected, so I am lucky to get five hours of relief a night. I go to bed late and toss and turn and wake up at five a.m. on the nose. The torture is that I have to wait for my daughter to wake and she helps me get out of bed. I have tried a few times to get out of bed on my own, but those attempts left me struggling on the floor and crying out for help. She typically doesn’t get up until six or seven and even later on the weekends. My Daughter is so patient. I don’t want to be a burden on her but I know I am. She has sacrificed so much in order to help take care of me. A husband. Kids. It’s better when I don’t dwell on it. I was so relieved to see her walk in my room this morning. I had to use the restroom fiercely. She helped me get cleaned and dress. It is an ordeal because I cannot stand unsupported for too long. Today was the thorough cleaning. Typically she uses a wash cloth and soap on me in the mornings to clean most of my body, but once a week I take a shower and get actually clean. It took over an hour. After my shower I sat in my usual chair and she turned on the television. Television doesn’t really appeal to me until about ten a.m. when Price Is Right comes on. Most of the time I do not even watch the television, just stare through it, listening to the loud noises and bright colors lighten up my face. Ding Dong! The doorbell sounded. Knock, knock, knock! Someone rapped at my door. I called for My Daughter. No response. I was pretty sure it was the mailman at the door since we don’t have many visitors. I grabbed my walker and headed for the door. “I have a package that requires a signature,” said the mailman. He handed me a pink slip of paper and a pen. It was a struggle to support myself in the walker but I was determined to sign for the package. I dropped the pen. He quickly bent down and picked it up and put it back in my hand. I didn’t want to say anything but it was clear I could not hold myself up and sign the slip. “Would you like me to sign it for you?” He asked. “Yes please!” That was so generous of him. He signed the paper and handed me the package and the rest of my mail. I was able to hold on to it for a few seconds when I felt the strength leave my body. I dropped the mail. I collapsed. “Unnnhhh!” I exclaimed as my face went into my walker. I put all my strength into picking myself back up but it was impossible. I could feel my pants sliding down my back and was humiliated. “Unnnhhh! My pants are falling down!” The mailman was frozen, not sure what to do. All was lost. Thankfully, at that moment My Daughter walked by and rushed over to me. “Oh my God! What are you doing?” She ran over and picked me up by my chest. “Stop!” I said as she was crushing my chest. “It hurts!” She tried holding me up for me to get a grip on my walker. I had expended all my energy there was no way that was happening. After a short while of her trying to hold me up on my feet (It was excruciating pain) she slowly lowered me to the floor. “Why did you come to the door?” My Daughter asked me as we both lay there in a heap. The mailman was still there, frozen, not sure how to help or what to say. “Thank you,” My Daughter told him as he walked away. She slammed the door. Picked me up and dragged me to my natural seat by the television. “What were you thinking? Why didn’t you call for me?” She asked. “I did! You didn’t come. I knew it was the mailman so I thought I could answer the door.” “You know you can’t do that!” There is nothing worse than being scolded by your own child. I think that is the natural order of things. We are born helpless. If we live long enough, we become victims of time. I want to feel embarrassed about what happened today. I don’t see the point. My Daughter couldn’t get her point across enough about how I shouldn’t be getting up, shouldn’t be answering the door. I get it. I don’t like that I am trapped in this body. I remember when My Henry and I used to go on hikes for hours. He would always tell me that “You could hike everest if you didn’t hate the cold.” It seems like a lifetime since that was true. Me and My Henry were invincible. I know that if you live to my age you have to see loved ones go, but why him? He was always so kind. So gentle. I have lived almost a century. There’s not much I think about beside my mortality. I have come to terms that I am going to die, but I don’t see how that makes much of a difference. My Henry lived for 70 years, he led a moral, hard-working life. Nothing changed. Nothing ever changes. People live, people die. That’s what happens. I think when we are young, we view life as a privilege. Isn’t it great I was born? Aren’t I great? The problem with life is we know we are alive and we have a lifespan. My cats don’t know what is happening besides the moment. I turn a light on when it’s dark, they don’t question where it came from, they are just thankful it is there. They don’t understand cancer. They don’t know they are seventeen years old and have cataracts and are an inch from death. I wish I had lived every moment in the present. Worry. Worry, worry, worry. That’s all we do. Focus on what will happen, what could happen. The best part of a vacation is the anticipation. Once you have it you are always disappointed. I read if I live for thirty more years they will cure the aging process. They not only will reverse aging, but eliminate death. How is life worth living if you don’t die? The greek gods were fascinated with death because it makes every experience, every moment mean so much more. I won’t make it thirty more years, but even if I could, i wouldn’t want to. I want to be back with Henry. I am so tired of being a burden on My Daughter. She has given up so much to take care of me. She doesn’t say anything but I know what she has sacrificed. When I was growing up her lifestyle wasn’t approved, but now it seems everyone is marrying everyone. I want her to be happy. I was never a writer so I am not sure if this is coming out the way I want it to, but I want to be useful. I’m writing this before I go to bed tonight. I haven’t really written since I was a girl but My Daughter said it was important I express myself and get my thoughts on paper. I am still struggling to see the point in life. Good. Bad. It doesn’t seem to make a difference. I led a moral christian, moral life. I prayed everyday and went to church. Henry went to church. I believe I’m going to heaven. I believe Henry went to heaven. I don’t think heaven is the way it’s described in the bible. I know that I am more than my body. My spirit is what is holding this pen right now. My consciousness is what is real. My body is nothing more than a vessel. What happens after this vessel is used up, I do not know. I know that I have enjoyed the time I have spent thus far on this plane of existence. My Daughter would make fun of me for talking like this but this is what I have always felt. There is nothing more real that staring at deaths door. I am knocking, pounding, screaming for him to come and take me. I don’t want to die. I’m scared of death. But I’m scared of life as well. How can i be alive if I’m not living. I’m just here. I’m just running out the clock at My Daughters expense. She has a life. She needs to move on. I wish I lived in Oregon where assisted suicide was legal. There is a point to life though. I know how much I mean to My Daughter. She means so much to me as well. I love her with all my heart. I don’t know what to say to her. She has given up her life to take care of me. I want her to be happy. We all want to be happy. I think if this was my last night on earth I would just want to say that every moment is precious. There is no future. There is the now. The right now. You don’t realize how much you are fixated on what’s going to happen or what happened already. As My Henry always said, “Life is the best thing that happened to me.” And I believe that to be true. Journal entry December 6th, 2014: I woke again today.