I’m Still Alive, Why Do You Ask?

Although I appreciate the concerns, I do wish people would stop texting me when they haven’t seen me for a few days, ‘R U Alive?’.  This did not just start happening after I turned sixty, this has been a common theme since my divorce.  Why do people think I am incapable of taking care of myself?  They wonder if the reason I don’t own a dog is I’m afraid when I do die alone, in my Grey Gardens-like Townhouse, they’ll find my half-devoured body and the satisfied look on my dog’s face after he enjoyed his nice Italian dinner?

Granted, I did end up in the hospital a few times since my divorce, but for reasons out of my hands.  A blood clot to the eye was not on my list of things to do that day (1. take out the garbage, 2. blood clot to the eye, 3. don’t die).  And four days in the hospital, and short term memory loss, from a flu shot was definitely not on my agenda.

I did fall down the steps backwards once and hit the wall, but I was drunk, and wasn’t alone; they would have found my body pretty quick.

Once, when my brother voiced his concerns over this issue, I explained the situation to him.  I am always at work – always.  Even when I started to write this blog post, New Jersey was under a ‘State of Emergency’, and I was at work.  Now, I’m no hero; our Governor, after failing miserably when we had our first huge snowstorm last year, now calls for a ‘State of Emergency’ if a snow globe rolls off the shelf. 

So, to alleviate my brother’s concern, if I do not show up for work, and I haven’t informed people of my absence, there is a bucket brigade of friends that will find my broke or dead body within the hour.  I hope they bring bagels, because I never have any food at my house.

The most recent occurrence was this weekend.  I hadn’t spoken to my ex-wife, Arlene, in a few days.  On Saturday I went to a friend’s sixtieth surprise birthday party and turned off my phone; I didn’t want it to go off at an inappropriate time during the speeches.   Arlene could not get a hold of me and called my sister to see if I was with her, which I wasn’t.  Finally, when I turned my phone back on I saw the text and replied, ‘I am’ to her ‘R U Alive’ question.  I guess she didn’t see the message because she called me on my ride home where I once again assured her I was still breathing. 

I don’t know why Arlene is so concerned if I’m alive or not, she’s not in my will.

Sunday, I headed to Pennsylvania for breakfast, then bowling, with members of my family.  I had not gone bowling in years, and if I was going to die, it would have been from embarrassment.  Amazing, put a fifteen-pound bowling ball in my hand and I forget how to take four steps and throw.

As I left, my sister said call when I got home.  I told her I would probably forget, but I did call her as I stopped at Wegmans to pick up some items for the week.

Later that night, she called me to say I never called, and I reminded her that I called from Wegmans.

“Wegmans is not home,” she informed me.  Wegmans is five miles from my house, I thought close enough to count as my ‘got home safe’ call. 

Guess not.

All kidding aside, I do appreciate the concern, and will probably (probably?) die one day, justifying that ‘R U Alive’ text message.

When that day comes, how will I text back, ‘No’…