Feeling My Mortality, LOL

This isn’t really how I picture Charley Davidson, the sexy, funny Grimm Reaper in Darynda Jones’s soon-to-be 13-book series. In my mind, Charley carries a bit more weight. Nonetheless, I do feel the Reaper’s chilly breath on the back of my neck more that I used to. Photo by: California Costumes

Last year, I fell ill just after Thanksgiving. I was sicker than I remember being in years. Then I fell ill again on a return from a Christmas vacation in Ruidoso. All of this illness has me feeling my mortality, but since I am a big fan of Dad Jokes—and being a dad who is approaching his sixtieth birthday—a couple of them came to my mind during recovery. I can’t help it. I come from a long line of folks who tell jokes on their death beds.

The first of these jokes has to do with my eventual reaction to cold medicines. Over the years I have noticed a fairly standard progression as the disease works its way through my body and eventually out of it.

Q: What is the scariest thing about being sick?

A: Realizing you have to sneeze and the drugs you’re on give you the runs.

The second Dad Joke comes from a much more humiliating realization.

Q: What is the saddest thing about getting older?

A: Realizing that you now consider coffee a recreational drug.

That last one would make Charley Davidson, who once referred to coffee as “the nectar of the gods,” very sad.

RIP, Dot

Image Source: Moon Angel

When I was little, we were so close it used to scare Mom.

Like the time I was playing with my blocks and started crying for no apparent reason. Mom told me she picked me up and asked what was wrong. “My Dorothy’s sad.” A couple of hours later, Dot called and said she and her husband had had a big fight and wanted to know if she could come home.

Another time I started cleaning up my toys. When Mom asked why, I told her Dorothy was coming. Since she lived out-of-state, Mom said that wasn’t likely. But she showed up for a surprise visit a couple of hours later. As we got older, we grew apart as siblings often do. A casual search of this blog shows that this is the first time I’ve mentioned her. We didn’t stay in contact much, but we knew we could always count on each other. Now she’s gone.

I’ll miss you, Big Sister.