Old People

It never really dawned on me that I was gonna die until all the old people around me started to die. Like, my grandpa and aunt and even my older brother in law. It’s just a matter of time before my parents grow old and die too. I’m going to come home late one day from my job and check my voicemail and my mom or dad is on the phone crying telling me that my mom or dad had passed. I’d hear him or her hang up the phone and I imagine him or her wiping the wet from their face. They might sit down on the couch where the two of them sat down to watch some old show they mutually enjoyed.                
We’d share the same thought.
I’d sit down on my bed or on the toilet and not feel anything. I wouldn’t feel alone or angry or sad. 

I’d feel normal. I’d feel like it already happened because it already did. Old people die and it’s sad but we already know it’s going to happen. If love wasn’t a thing, death wouldn’t be such a big deal. If connections and relativity never entered existence then death would never be feared or even really contemplated. 

       
It would simply just happen. It’d be the same as being hungry, or getting a boner, or waking up and getting a boner. It’s sad thought because life is so temporary and we know it. We indulge it. I’m doing it right now. Who says that we’re entitled to long lives? We’re not. Not everybody grows old. Not everybody experiences life to the fullest. Maybe that’s what we’re so afraid of: life expectancy. ‘Well as long as I die old then I’m okay with death.’ Anything sooner is out of the question. 

This is why I envy old people.