I am not concerned about death

I am not concerned about death.

Maybe it’s the inevitability of it.

Or the certainty.

It’s certainly inevitable.

Aging,

on the other hand,

(although it’s also mandatory),

terrifies me.

My face will wrinkle.

My bones will weaken.

My hair color will fade.

The sounds of my loved ones voices

will become muted.

People will have to speak louder,

just so I can hear them.

And I guess that’s to be expected,

but hopefully my mind remembers.

I don’t want to forget.

I think

for me,

that’s the scariest thought of all.

I believe I can handle not recognizing my own reflection,

difficult as it may be,

but seeing the unfamiliar faces of my loved ones

would be a confusing and l o n e l y existence.

I don’t ever want to experience that,

nor do I wish for my family to.

I want to remember my life.

I want to recall my stories.

I want to point to the trinkets I’ve collected

from the various places I’ve been,

and laugh with my grandkids about how I got them.

I want to identify the people in my photographs

and say their names

proudly,

while providing context.

The dying part,

I have no problem with.