AND I WILL BE DEAD

I have this premonition that I will go to bed one evening and sleep permanently. Though it will be a painless passing, too many pending matters will disturb my rest.

I prefer a terminal disease that allows me to ask forgiveness from those I have hurt, a month or two of tearful reminisces and joyous farewells before I turn to heavy dosages of drugs to facilitate the transition.

The night before my sudden demise will probably be like most the others I have lived. There will be plans for the next day, taking the grandson to the zoo in the morning, finishing the biography of Teddy Roosevelt and walking my favorite trail in the evening.

As I lay in bed thinking about my deceased wife as I do every night, I'll check under the pillow and make sure my pistol is close at hand. I will drift off to sleep listening to crickets through the open window and the swoosh of traffic in the distance.

It may be a little too much to ask, but my sentimental wish for those final sounds would include the music of rain tapping on the roof as well as the lonely whistle of a train departing for its faraway destination.

In the morning my son will come by and check on me as he does and I'll be dead. He'll close my eyes, kiss me on the cheek and whisper into my ear, "I love you, Dad."