Spry Mrs. Keaton

Mrs. Keaton had reached the age of 75, but she by no means considered herself old. She always lived by the adage, "You will age, but you don't have to get old" Every morning, she sprung out of bed like a rocket ship, feeling young, spry, and limber. Ready to attack the day. She hummed old church hymns and songs from her youth while she got dressed. Mrs. Keaton was not in a rush at all but didn't dilly dally either. Instead, she laced up her favorite jet black and fluorescent green jogging shoes and headed towards the stairs, grabbing her brightest green lightweight jacket.

At 75 years of age, getting out of bed with this level of vigor is exceptionally unusual. Some would call it otherworldly. Mrs. Keaton didn't pay it any mind. In fact, she chuckled when she remembered her next-door neighbor said, "Damn Mrs. Keaton, you here running again, huh?" At this age, everything about Mrs. Keaton was far from what would be considered par for the course. Anyone who saw her on any given Sunday might have mistaken her for a 40-year-old. And an incredibly fit 40-year-old at that. Mrs. Keaton smiled at the thought.

She reached the bottom of the staircase with a zest for life exuding from every pore on her youthful body. There was a mirror, and for a moment, Mrs. Keaton stopped to look at herself. This wasn't for vanity or anything of the sort. On the contrary, she had made a vow that she would take a good look at herself every day because if she could look herself in the eye, then she was living her truth.

"I'm grateful for the lives I have lived, the lives I will live, and the life I am living right now in this moment." Mrs. Keaton affirmed.

She stood in front of the full-body mirror for a moment, soaking in the gratitude, smiled, then sauntered into her modern-all white kitchen. She grabbed a glass from her cabinet and filled it with water. Next, she turned around and pulled the drawer open to get out her morning pills. In one gulp, she swallowed her vitamins and the small glass of water. She took several deep inhales followed by forceful exhales. Finally, she had centered herself in the peaceful silence of the morning. The sun was barely peeking over the ridges of the distant mountains and beginning to illuminate the neighborhood.

Mrs. Keaton stood for a moment, leaning against the granite kitchen island, allowing the rising sunlight to wash over her. She could feel the warmth caressing her skin and soothing her soul. She smiled and then walked purposely to the door. It was time for a run.

"I love this part." she thought.

When Mrs. Keaton stepped outside, she bounced from side to side on the balls of her feet, then started a light jog. Each step felt like a new experience. Her feet connecting to the sole of the shoe, that shoe connecting with the sidewalk, and that impact sending a sensation to her leg muscles, causing her heart to beat faster. It was beautiful, the way the human brain masterfully coordinates the synchronicity of movement. She was grateful for each step and the perspiration that soon followed.

Under the rising sun of the morning, she increased her pace every half-mile, and each time more sweat was released from her skin. She made herself aware of the tiny sensations of the fluid rolling across her skin, cooling her down ever so slightly to maintain the internal body temperature. Another wonder of the human body. Mrs. Keaton enjoyed every piece of shade, every ray of sun, every pellet of sweat, and every step. She was free and filled with gratitude about simply existing.

"I AM ALIVE!" she shouted.

Nobody was around to hear Mrs. Keaton's outburst of gratitude, and she wouldn't have cared anyway. She had become enveloped by the joy of having a life. Her mind was flooded with endorphins and serotonin at the same time. She grinned from ear to ear, and when she reached the summit of the hill, she had run up; she was swept away by the magnificent view. She stood atop this hill for what could have been hours. After a while, she took a deep breath, turned around, and began her trek home.

Mrs. Keaton got home in what appeared to be half the time it took to get to the hilltop. She often wondered what that phenomenon was about, but she didn't ever wonder too long. When she walked through her solid oak wood-lined front door, she was drenched in sweat, beyond famished, and she couldn't be more content. The howling laughter she let loose spread and echoed throughout her house. If someone were watching Mrs. Keaton, they would have requested that she be put in a hospital for the mentally unstable.

Mrs. Keaton immediately dropped to the floor and repped out 50 pushups, rolled over to do 100 crunches, then rolled back over to do a five-minute plank. When she finished her intense mini-workout, she rose from the floor the same way she got up that morning. She shot straight up as if she was a high-performance car, and the driver hit the nitrous oxide button. She went to the kitchen, drunk two full glasses of water, and grabbed a protein bar. She took another deep breath and headed upstairs. Mrs. Keaton was deep in thought about the rest of her day when she walked into her bedroom.

As she walked in, she saw it. A huge brown paper bag sat in the middle of her bed, atop her wolf-grey comforter set. She stopped short, sighed, and then walked over to inspect the brown paper bag.

"I guess it's time now," she said calmly.

Mrs. Keaton sat on the edge of her bed, staring out of her window. She then took her time opening the bag, pulling out the brown paper box she knew she would find. On top of the box was writing that said:

For – Mrs. Keaton

Mrs. Keaton smiled and opened the box. Inside the box were thousands of pictures, letters, and trinkets from all over. At the top were three specific pictures of Mrs. Keaton. They were the three pictures of her rounds of chemotherapy. At the age of 20, Mrs. Keaton was diagnosed with stage 3 ovarian cancer. Her family was inconsolable, and Mrs. Keaton believed her life was over. Soon after, her cancer went into remission, so they left her ovaries alone. Her cancer then returned at 32 and again at 50. Mrs. Keaton fought hard and beat cancer each time. Unfortunately, she never was able to have kids or have a successful marriage.

Yet here she was smiling at the most painful memories in her life.

"This was a rough one," she said aloud.

However, she wasn't referring to the pictures. Instead, Mrs. Keaton spoke out loud as if she was speaking to someone.

Mrs. Keaton got up, walked to her closet, and grabbed a ring that her grandmother gave her when she was 19. It was a single tiny gold band, but her grandmother's message with the ring was more important.

"Remain grateful for everything. No matter if it's good or bad. Be grateful for it."

At 75 years old, Mrs. Keaton finally understood that. She placed that ring in the box, smiled, and closed everything up. She then slid the bag with the box of trinkets to the left side of the bed.

"I'm ready." Mrs. Keaton said aloud.

She then laid on her back, clasped her hands across her stomach, inhaled, closed her eyes, and died.

….

This isn't Mrs. Keaton's first life. In fact, she's lived so many she can't remember the first name she was given. She doesn't remember whether she was born male or female, but she does remember the pain she experienced in each life. The adversities and struggles of each person. However, she remembers the freedom she felt in overcoming those obstacles. In each of those lives, she freed herself from the shackles of pain and despair to achieve each life's maximum potential.

It is said that in order to transcend to a higher plane, you must live the life of every other person that has ever existed. Mrs. Keaton is still early in her transcendence but what remains is the lessons she learns from each life, gratitude, and that little brown box in the paper bag.