Hello…? Hello…?

I have a good friend. Terry was 'best man' at my recent wedding, where we invited all our new-found friends, whom we love and cherish . At 60 years old, I have had time to live a nearly complete life. I could fill these pages with kudos for him until my demise, but that would probably just piss him off! A placid, introspective, yet openly caring gentleman, he is not one for superfluous compliment, so I will allow, "defense rests". Still, I must pass on, in reference to thoughts of my last breath, what he told me once, or rather wrote, "There is only one who knows for sure, and it ain't 'THE SHADOW'".
'Yesterday', I was 'scot-free'. I had no one to care for, or about, except myself, but now, I do care. I have someone, I have love, and I am responsible for that someone and that love. Since I will most likely be the first one 'to go', we decided that we should live in an area that would 'protect' her. Still, I had troubled thoughts of how she would carry herself on, after me. What would she do with my mountain of tools, my several guitars, etc.? Will she remember passwords to my PC that unlock very essential items for her remaining future? There were a dozen such questions, running through my mind in a frenzy, filling me with anxiety, disturbing me immensely.
'Today', I am serene. I have finally come to the obvious, yet elusive solution, to my worries. I have Terry. She has Terry, and several more like him. I know now that when something befalls me, she will have others to stand in my place when she is in need. Now I can rest in peace.
"No, sir!" I am not ready to check out. I 'must' get my golf swing together, so my peers don't think the stories I gave them were 'pipe dreams'. I 'must' get my spinning reels together and go foraging for a fat catfish. I have to do more wood portraits, play more guitar, and learn the dulcimer. I have much to do. I used to get anxiety, thinking I had to do it all, and had not enough time to do it. Now, time doesn't matter. What I accomplish, is fine, and what I do not, is fine too. And I need to write. I have words to share. You don't have to like them, just read them.
Just as she feels safe, so do I. When I go, I know, Hell is on earth, for I have been there. Lord knows there have been many tears in this life of mine. Tears as a child, tears in the Vietnam era, tears at losing both parents, even tears when I found I could not work anymore, that my doctors would not allow it. But there were never as many tears as compare to one year before that. It was 9/11/2001, downtown Manhattan. My ferry crossed the river below the Statue, and I swear I saw tears. It was the night Miss Liberty cried.
Terry sent me an email, announcing a "Why I Write" essay contest. Why? He says, "To feel better about the uncontrollable", and how "We control our words which are a reflection of our dreams and actions, past, present and anticipated". And he, of course, is correct. I feel as though I have begun to control my life.
Life isn't so bad, once you start to figure it out. Mutual love and respect help it along a bit, and I guess that's why I write. I write to hear myself think out loud.
Excuse me everyone, but I think I hear love calling.