He’d had a long, productive life. On reflection, he said he had no complaints. He took care of himself, ate right, and took regular exercise. He’d raised an independent brood, all who eventually went on to make their own way in the world. He tried to talk them into staying close by, but they were determined to forge their own paths. And now he’d outlived them all.
Unfortunately, life changed in these parts. He had always felt free and independent, keeping his own schedule and company. He explored whenever he felt like it, relaxed when he could and pretty much lived a life of leisure. He’d always been a night owl; the silence and safety of darkness never stopped having its appeal.
But he no longer felt appreciated here. There were ominous signs that the welcome mat was being withdrawn, that he had overstayed his welcome and that he needed to reconsider his options.
Making that kind of change just seemed so difficult. Where would he go? At his age, making such a radical change might be too much for him to contemplate. Maybe he’d simply lived too long and it was time to enter the next world. . . but suddenly he screamed, wait, no not that, no, let me be, I’m not ready to go yet, can’t someone help me…?
In his last moments . . .