[wdfifteen]

The question of who I am has been bouncing through my skull lately. I find it disturbing.

For 60 years I was someone’s son. Even when I was helping Dad through Alzheimer’s I was his kid. I didn’t realize until I lost him how comforting it can be to live under the umbrella of being your father's kid even though we were not close.

It was some point after Dad died in 2010 that I realized I was the oldest living person in my family. My image of myself subtly changed when I realized I was it - the end of the line. I felt like responsibilities were thrust on me that were unseen and unspoken - only felt. I was up to it. I still had confidence in myself and confidence that I was strong and competent. Things were fine.

But the ensuing 13 years brought the slings and arrows of aging and they have challenged my feelings of strength and competence. I don’t see so well anymore. My reflexes aren’t what they should be, and my energy level is way down. I find myself driving down the road at slightly below the speed limit instead of slightly above it. I am becoming a caricature of an old man.

I really, really don’t want to be an old man. I can’t imagine myself being an old man. If I ever give in and accept it, I swear I’ll drive my effin’ Speedster off a cliff.
At slightly below the speed limit.