I had a dream last night that I died. It was sad but not painful, I was sitting on the balcony, leaning back in a chair against the wall and I just kind of gave up the ghost. I took one long, sad, last breath and my poor, faithful heart just stopped. One of T’s daughters was sitting not far away. It might have been a premonition but, if so, hopefully it’s a few years off. I didn’t feel sorry for myself. I felt sorry for my heart.

I’ll probably continue to memorialize this passage in writing but I hope not to sound too sad or pathetic. There’s a lot of good in my life. An interesting observation is that, while I don’t feel much joy, I do recognize the humor in much of this. Every day T makes me laugh. Every day I see beauty. Every day I’m grateful.

My Oura ring has a new feature. It measures the age of the heart. I was curious to see how accurate it was, and I was prepared to write to them, thinking it would provide a false reading. It actually says that my heart is eight years older than my time on earth. I’m 71, so that’s 79, and that’s a pretty good reflection of what’s going on. In my last writing, I mentioned that my doctor wants me to set a record by aiming for eight more years. Kudos to Oura.

T rubbed my chest this morning. She rubs it just over my heart. It’s not the first time that she’s done that and I can’t tell you how good that feels. I get lost in it.