I have no idea if the end of the book I’m currently writing has anything to do with this—maybe—but I’ve been wondering lately what my future will be like at the end. I can’t help but shake I’ll be alone. And I don’t mean abandoned. I mean everyone else will pass before I do. Dying has always seemed very daunting and scary to me. But if you were surviving and everybody else around you was kicking the bucket long before your timer went off? That’s almost more terrifying.
When my husband and I first started dating—he was 19 years old at the time—he told me he always thought he’d be dead by the time he turned 30. I suggested he start paying for dinner when we went out, and that stopped pretty quickly. I used to wonder why he felt he’d be gone then. It may have had to do with him not being out to anybody, and if we hadn’t started dating, he’d have followed the path his family expected him to. There’d have been a wife, kids, and death at age 30 because it wasn’t what he wanted.
It was different time then.
There will come a day when I can no longer spend my mornings, afternoons, or evenings at a computer writing, or publishing, and that time of my life will be over. Then what? Watching daytime television shows while I remember the old days, and stare at a neglected keyboard, wishing I was still able to use it to create a world different from my own?
My mother and mother-in-law will be gone, my grandmother long gone, and even the Grandmonster long gone, our relationship and battles the thing of legends. Unless she’s resurrected by someone, and then another hero will come forward to do battle with her. Where exactly does that leave me? What happens to the survivors of horror films? They’re often dispatched in the next chapter, so I have that to look forward to.
I imagine I’ll still be living here in Michigan, staring out the window and remembering what used to be outside before it was renovated into something I have no use for. Classic reruns will consist of first run shows I used to watch while growing up, or even into my forties. My favorite movies will ones people chuckle about and think are “so old!” But, oh, the best part? The best part is I’ll make the mistake of watching or reading the news, and seeing folks much younger than myself spouting the same bullshit we grew up with! And they’ll be making the same errors, never learning from history because they think they know better.
This will make me wish more than ever that my Little Brother was still with me, that I could still call G.A. Hauser, Patti Logan, Kiernan Kelly, Trish Barnaby, and so, so, so many others to complain and commiserate. But, no. They’d have all moved on. And I’d be a curmudgeon, yelling at the kids to get off my lawn, only to be told I don’t actually own the lawn, and those kids are the workers performing yard maintenance here at Shady Pines.
I at least hope the home will be able to make a decent cup of tea.