The almost dead

Here's why old men are adorable:

Today, I walked into church with one goal:  find a location where everyone minds their business and respects social distancing (I'm very big on people keeping their businesses far away from me in this panoramic) so where else would I fit in, if not among the white haired members of the congregation?

I go ahead to sit beside this dude who's probably closer to ninety than he is to seventy, and I find myself staring at the white hair curled in his pinna.

I think about their lives in retrospect a lot; old people. 

My fave is in a lace agbada that went out of vogue decades ago when his wife was maybe still alive to critique his taste in fabric; his back hunched over and his cap in his hands, as he looks right ahead of him. 

His hands are thinned out, dry and wrinkled and he reaches for his Bible as the readings begin. I look him over and every portion of his skin has lost the bounce and shine we try so hard to maintain with all sort of organic concoction.  

He looks around him, probably feeling my eyes on him and looks back away; there's no drama, just him watching life grow around him. It's almost as if he expects his death at any time and lives like his time is up.

I want to talk to this papa man and ask him about his life in retrospect. Does he dwell on regrets? I'm sure there would be a good number of things he wishes he had done, or not done.

I want to ask him if he misses the game; when the beautiful women flocked over at the flash of his smile. He still has the outline of that boyish charm all over his eyes, glinting, yet tired.

Did he get the bag? Did he hate his job? Was he there as a parent? Do his kids come to visit or do they feel distant from his realities? 

I'm curious as to how he accepted the change in technology. Does the smartphone look ridiculous to him? How about the wars? The civil war? Was he on the sidelines? What does he think about how quick we are to call his generation a failure?

He doesn't call out the youth on their "moral decadence" like they expect him to. He just hmphs and looks away. When you ask him why, he says "You'll come to understand soon".

I want to be in his head. I want to hear of all his loses, and how much he misses his friends; his life and his existence. 

Was it worth it? Fighting to live this long? Does he think the world would not even realize he's dead and therefore all the race at life was after all, a sham?

Most of all, does he look forward to dying as I do?

All images are from Pinterest

PS: It's a new year and here's my first post. I started a book about a megalomaniac who kidnaps women and makes them his wife. One kills him. The story is about her and killing him. 

I started writing others too and I'm just putting it out there that I hope to update this every week on Sundays.

It's a great year already, my lovely lovely reader. Thanks for sticking with me.