My wife’s
father died at 62 from a rare form of cancer likely resulting from workplace
exposure to toxic materials. Her mother died at 77 from complications relating
to Alzheimer’s disease. My mother was stricken with colon cancer at 63. But
with surgery and chemotherapy, she survived until the cancer returned to take
her at 67. My father recovered from a heart attack at 57. He hoped to live to
see the year 2000, but on Christmas Day, 1999 he was hospitalized for a second
heart attack. He died two days later. We buried him on the eve of the new millennium.
My parents
raised five boys who are all still alive. The oldest will turn 75 in July; the
youngest will be 63 in October. One of us five had a stroke at 56. We all have
medical challenges, but for the most part, we’re doing okay.
On my next
birthday, I will be 73 years old. I have acid reflux disease, sleep apnea, high
blood pressure and my A1C of 6.5 says I am on the cusp of having Type 2
diabetes. I am overweight, have an enlarged prostate and take a handful of
medications and supplements each day. I walk for exercise with occasional
visits to the gym, feeling relatively good about my overall health.
I once
thought 73 was quite old. I have pictures of my grandparents who died in their
sixties. They looked ancient. I don’t think I look nearly as old. My uncle
lived into his nineties, which gives me hope that I might have twenty years to
live before this body is lowered into a grave. Then I think of close friends my
age that have already died.
At my 50-year
class reunion, we shared a moment of silence for 61 classmates who had passed
away since graduation. Since then, I am aware of several more close friends from
high school that have died. There is George, who was a teammate of mine on the
Battle of Wits television show. We lost to Taylor Allderdice but had a great
time preparing for the contest. George taught me how to curse and swear or at
least convinced me that I shouldn’t feel guilty about it. Then, there is Dave,
who loved music as much as I. We saw The Band play a concert at the Syria
Mosque. A few months later, Dave got caught trying to smuggle a wineskin into the
Edgar Winter concert at the Civic Arena. We also had a grand time torturing Fräulein
Curzer in German 3 and 4.
When I
wrote “My Life’s Story” in fifth grade, I counted Johnny as my best friend. Johnny
and I were in Cub Scouts together. We took a wild ride in my wagon while trying
to sell stuff to raise money for the Scouts. We both had the wind knocked out
of us. Johnny got some nasty brush burns on his back and ran home crying from
the pain. Fortunately, no cars were coming in the opposite direction, or our
adventure could have turned out much worse. I recently found out that Johnny
had died in 2023 at age 70.
About a
year ago, someone posted on Facebook the obituary for neighborhood chum Davey. He
was a year older than I and lived a few doors up the street. We had great times
together, riding bikes, reading Mad Magazine, leafing through his stash of comic
books, and listening to The Dave Clark Five while fantasizing about neighborhood
girls.
I went to college at IUP and joined a fraternity with some terrific guys. I was saddened when I saw that Sin Man, Sugar Bear and Springs had passed away. Then, in April 2025 I heard that Randy had gone. Randy was my freshman roommate and my Big Brother when I joined the fraternity. We saw ourselves as potential rock stars with our band, Sinderhaus. We built a sound system, heated an old garage with a fireplace made from a barrel that possibly contained toxic chemicals. We practiced for hours in that cold, smoky garage. Randy was an usher at my wedding. We made a point of visiting each other after graduation when I lived in Pittsburgh and he and Sandi lived in suburban Washington, DC. We stayed in touch via email as he moved to Las Vegas and then to California. I found out from another fraternity brother that he had died. I was devastated.
Then in October, 2025 Turk called to try to talk me into attending IUP’s homecoming. Turk was my fraternity pledge brother and sophomore roommate. On a whim, we got up in the middle of the night to drive to Punxsutawney to see if Phil would see his shadow. He honored me by asking me to be his Best Man when he married Deb. He called me every year on Ground Hog’s Day to recount our adventure to Gobbler’s Knob.
I regret that I decided to pass on Homecoming 2025, because a few weeks later, Turk called to tell me he had just been diagnosed with pancreatic cancer. The doctors told him he only had a few weeks to live. I missed what would have been a great memory
My two
brothers-in-law both died in their early seventies. Robert was a Revolutionary
War re-enactor. Okbazghi was a professor at the University of Louisville. Both,
gone too soon.
I’ve
described only a few of the people that touched my life and have gone before
me. Despite my various ailments and medical conditions, I am still here. I
thank God or the Fates or whomever is responsible for keeping the Grim Reaper
away from my door, when he has taken so many of similar years to mine. I know
that my days are numbered as are the days of all that live and breathe. The
best I can do is honor those that are gone by enjoying each of my remaining days
with gratefulness, kindness and good humor as I recognize my own mortality.
