When I was small, I would sometimes go to bed thinking about the end. Not some cataclysmic end, but the end of small things. I frequently cried myself to sleep thinking about such things.
Those small things, the end of staying at home all day with my mom because I had to start going to school; the end of sitting on adult laps; the end of my fish or the end of summer; the end of my 93 year old great grandfather that I barely knew and the end of the blue buick that was already over 10 years old. I was a mournful child at bedtime.
I have gotten better at dealing with ends since then, but lately, I feel the coming of my ends. Not death, precisely, but the looming end of such things as independence, strength of body, clarity of vision, steadiness of hand.
I have jokingly referred to my 2012 car as my last car and the little home I bought as my "winter house", as I realize that I am retired, and unlikely to ever need to buy another of either. Both of those are bittersweet, despite the fact that I am prone to staying with what I have forever unless some external circumstance necessitates an upgrade.
Am I the only one that does this?
Maybe.
