The Last (Wo)Man Standing

The last three years I have lost too many friends, good and true.

There is an expression that’s been making the rounds. “Today is a good day to die.” Where did that nonsense come from? The Lakota? The Greeks? Personally, I blame Hollywood, easy to blame, a nonentity, an imaginary force with a lot to answer for in the Grand Scheme of things. That’s what I think.

If I am to lay blame, I guess I blame all of us who dance to the Hollywood Tune like lemmings running to the sea, “Come on baby, let’s do the twist”.

I say, “Today is not a good day to die.” I miss my friends. There are few of us left with like experiences. When I count the few, it makes for very lonely feelings. My lost friends show up in my dreams. Then I wake up and remember.

Yes, I am awake and I am glad to be alive this day. Not that I felt like I was going to die. I feel healthier than I’ve felt in the past ten years, truth to tell.

However. Funny, there is often a “however”. Here’s mine. However, I had a typical woman-scare last week, one I share with many women. Made an appointment to see a gynecologist. While I had no thoughts of dying, I had thoughts of invasive procedures, of surgery, of long recovery. Okay, I was scared off my tree limb.

In the olden days, when I was younger, I would have gone through this whole scary thing by myself and told my friends all about it later, after it was over, whatever “it” was. Not today. I immediately wrote to all my friends, those of my generation as well as those much younger. I gave details for which you will thank me that I spared you. I would have told you as well but this whole process took very little time.

My good news, now that I’ve seen the specialist, answered ten million personal questions and had an exam, is that I don’t have to have an invasive procedure of any kind. I don’t have to have surgery. For relief, I need to do simple exercises. The rest of my life.

I woke up this morning. Today is a good day to live. I did my exercises. Today is a gift.

One of my young friends says that to her, any day after one reaches fifty years is a gift. It wasn’t that long ago in real time that fifty years was an old-age goal.

Am I afraid to die? Well, I don’t know. I haven’t experienced that yet so how would I know? I am afraid of surgery. I’ve been under the knife seven times. That’s seven times too many. My body is a mechanical mess, thanks to a car wreck when I was a mere twenty-three years. Otherwise, I feel pretty dang fine.

I’m glad to have this shivery winter day. Today may be a good day to die. I’ve no guarantee.

On awakening I realized the past few days I had felt like I was on hold. None of my normal activities appealed. Oh, wait. It was my own finger of fear that had hit the pause button.

But this one thing I know — today is a good day to live.

——

Sondra Ashton grew up in Harlem but spent most of her adult life out of state. She returned to see the Hi-Line with a perspective of delight. After several years back in Harlem, Ashton is seeking new experiences in Etzatlan, Mexico. Once a Montanan, always. Read Ashton’s essays and other work at http://montanatumbleweed.blogspot.com/. Email [email protected].