Ripeness Wants to be Ravished[1] A month away from 70 and I thought
I’d understand everything by now because, by 70 I would have been dead for 16 years. None of the men on my father’s side made it past 54. Why am I the exception? Probably because of my cardiologist, Abe Friedman, who prescribed statins early and enalapril when my blood pressure revolted in my late 40s. For 25 years I tried to make Abe laugh but gave up after he asked me, while I was on a treadmill, if I got any exercise. I replied, breathlessly, that “I always make sure to walk from my car on my way into a restaurant.” All I got was, “I’m not amused!” He saved my life and didn’t want a goodbye card or the flowers I tried to send him when he retired. Maybe I’d understand that if I was dead. And where is it written, in the book of religious fairy tales, that we achieve omniscience after death? Sister Mary Nevertouchyourself taught us that, after death, we wouldn’t be interested in seeing our loved ones again because we’d be in the presence of God. I guess we thought, if we were that close to God, we’d acquire his eternal knowledge almost as if we’d become God ourselves which, strangely enough, both Kierkegaard and Joseph Smith believed. Smith claimed that, along with becoming God, we’d get our own planets. Wow! What would I do with my own planet? First I’d lay in an eternal supply of Diet Wild Cheery Pepsi-- wouldn’t want to run out of that. I’d make sure my wife and son lived on the planet and that we had baseball and a fine symphony. All the dogs and cats we loved would be there with us along with our friends. We’d write poetry, drink beer, and eat pizza every day. Abe Friedman would be there. He’d check my blood pressure, laugh at my stupid jokes, let me give him flowers and thank him for all he’d done while we were both alive. Oh, and he’d listen to my heart.
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