Planning My Future, While I Still Remember I Have One

The horizon to my future is looking a bit closer than it did last year, last month, or even yesterday.

Nothing’s wrong with me— unless you count my shoulders and knees inching toward each other, my once-bouncy stride developing a wobble, and my hair retiring early from both shine, color and scalp. My face now sports a smattering of “experience dots,” my eyes refuse to focus without coaxing, and my ears… huh? What did you say?

These are the tell-tale signs my body is starting to protest the whole “remaining upright” arrangement.

And then there’s my mind. What day is it? Why am I in this room? What’s the name of that thing in the corner with the doohickey on top? Oh yes—a lamp. I knew that.

As my cousin said in a recent email, “One is admitting to themselves that graduation is coming, probably a lot sooner than we want.”

The fact that he sent an email instead of a text, and I actually read it, says neither of us is ready—or willing—to learn that little texting function on our phones.

All this to say, maybe it’s time to start thinking about how and where I want to live before “graduation day” rolls around. Should I consider a memory care facility? Assisted living? A senior apartment? And if so, where, when, and what kind?

Do I stay in Mexico? (I hope so.) Do I need special care? (I don’t think so.) Do I need to be near family? (Maybe.) Who will take care of me? (Who wants that lovely task?) What can I afford, and for how long? (Good question.) Will I be able to make new friends in a new place? (How?) But the real question is: What do I want? And that’s the one I can’t quite answer. So how do I start deciding the when, where, how, and “should I” without knowing that?

Here’s what I do know: I want some control over the process. I’d rather think about it now—while my brain cells still mostly answer roll call—than put it off until someone else decides what’s “best” for me, whether I like it or not.

I love my life exactly as it is today. But unless I die in the next twenty minutes—and I have dinner plans—I know it’s going to change. So I might as well start shaping my future now, while I can still hold the pencil … even if someone else ends up erasing it.

Another slice of life—burnt edges and all.

Little 

Voice