And When October Goes

I should be over it now I know

It doesn’t matter much

How old I grow

I hate to see October go*

This past Wednesday was the 7^th day of October.  It also was the 62^nd anniversary of my entrance into this world.  I am retired, though I prefer the term, “self-employed.”  In other words, I have a lot of flexibility in my schedule.  So on the afternoon of the day I became eligible for early social security benefits, I decided to take a walk.  My walk took me to a graveyard that I visit quite often.  It’s not far from my home and contains pleasant curving pathways leading past an interesting mix of tombstones.  This cemetery also contains lots of trees that provide shade on warm summer days.  Its paths lead up and down hills which give me a nice workout.  

On this October day I noticed that the leaves on the trees were just beginning to change.  On my way to the cemetery, I saw one tree resplendent in reds, yellows and oranges.  Some of the trees in the cemetery had begun to take on a yellow-green cast.  But most of the trees still wore the dull, dark green of late summer.

As I walked along the cemetery’s pathways, one tall oak caught my attention.  It had just a few shocks of bright yellow within its crown of green.  It reminded me of a man whose hair had started to turn gray around the temples – a mature, distinguished look.  My own hair had once been dark brown, thick and wavy.  Too many years ago it had changed to salt and pepper.  Now it is pure salt.  I considered whether I was now in the October of my life.  If so, I hoped it was early October, but feared it was later in the month.  My leaves have already turned, but at least they haven’t yet fallen. 

I pondered 62.  Is that really so old?  In my forties, I never read the obituaries.  Now I read them every day.  I take note of the ages of those who have died.  Some are in their sixties; some are even younger.  In today’s paper, I noted that most are in their eighties and nineties.  That gives me hope.  On the other hand, my father had a heart attack at 57.  My brother had a stroke at 55.  My mother was stricken with cancer at 63 and died at 67.  My wife’s father died at 62.  But then there’s my uncle who is still active and going on 90.  More hope.  I have a photograph of my grandparents.  They must be in their early sixties because they both were dead at 65.  They look very old to me.  I think I look much younger, but maybe I’m just kidding myself. 

My mother died in mid-November – the 13^th to be exact.  My father survived his first heart attack and made it to December before the second one took his life.  I tell myself I have months ahead of me.  But I hate to see October go. 

* When October Goes, words by Johnny Mercer, music by Barry Manilow.  See Barry perform it on YouTube.