Will I Wake Up?

 

Ramblings of a Retired Mind

Will I Wake Up?

Ever since I turned sixty-eight, I’ve gone to bed each night wondering: Will I wake up tomorrow—or not?

You see, sixty-eight is something of a cursed number in my family. My grandfather died at sixty-eight. So did his son. And so did my mother, his daughter. Naturally, I couldn’t help but obsess over it during my own sixty-eighth year. Every night, the thought gnawed at me. Every morning, waking up felt like a small victory.

When I turned sixty-nine, I was overjoyed—almost like when I finally reached sixteen and could drive. I could breathe again.

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The Thoughts That Creep In at Night

My nightly ritual goes like this: lights out, head on the pillow, and then… the thoughts start.

What if this is it?
What if tomorrow, there is no more me?

We humans are masters at feeling immortal—at least when we’re young and healthy. Think of an eight-year-old kid flying down a ski slope, fearless, not a thought about death. At that age, immortality feels real.

But later in life, mortality doesn’t just knock at the door—it camps out on the porch.

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What Happens to My Things?

Lying awake, I think about all the stuff I’ll leave behind. Clothes are easy—donate them. But what about my watches, jewelry, and rings?

Will my son want my watches? (I have too many, but I wear just one.) Will my grandson want my wedding ring when he gets married?

Sometimes I imagine living long enough to see my grandchildren marry. My eldest granddaughter is already seventeen, so maybe I’ll make it. My grandson is only twelve, but I’d love to last that long too.

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Life, Death, and Ghosts

I take comfort in believing there’s more to life than this. I’ve seen ghosts—and I know my grandfather’s spirit visited me on the night he died. My father was a big believer in spirits and swore he’d come back to haunt me. Lucky for me, he must be having too good a time on the other side, because he’s left me alone.

It always surprises me when people swear by Heaven or Hell, but dismiss the idea of ghosts. Isn’t that a contradiction?

And judging by the number of ghost-hunting shows on TV these days, I’d say more people believe than admit.

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The Reincarnation Crowd

A close friend of mine swears by reincarnation. He discovered it back in 1969 at a retreat for “enlightenment.” He’s so excited about who he’ll be next that he welcomes the end of his current life.

Not me. I say: rejoice in the life you already have. After all, no one has come back to say, Yes, leaving this world was the best decision I ever made.

Although if they didn’t end up in Heaven, maybe they’re not allowed to file reviews.

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My Almost Retreat (and a Detour)

Speaking of retreats, I almost attended one myself in 1972. A Korean girl invited me to a weekend led by Rev. Sun Myung Moon. But I had other plans: a two-day music festival in downstate Illinois.

Let’s just say, I saw plenty of people claiming they were seeing God, though probably with the help of something other than divine light.

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Living the Days We Have

Here’s the truth: I waste too much time worrying about something I can’t control. I remind myself of something Danny Kaye once said:

“Life is a great big canvas, and you should throw all the paint on it you can.”

So now, when the dark thoughts creep in, I try to push them away. I focus on small joys instead. Sometimes I go to bed thinking about what I’ll eat tomorrow. (And yes, living another day for the perfect slab of ribs is absolutely worth it—even if it shortens my time.)

Because here’s the deal: none of us can change our destiny. But we can make the most of the ride we’re on.

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My Morning Mantra

Will I wake up tomorrow as me—or in some other form, somewhere else entirely? I don’t know.

But I do know this: if I go, I won’t hang around haunting my loved ones. Maybe I’ll make a little noise now and then—just enough to remind them I’m watching.

Until then, I’ll keep throwing paint at the canvas of life. And when I wake up in the morning, I sing to myself a few lines that have become my mantra:

Days go by… You'd better start living right now… ’cause the days go by.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is entirely coincidental.