A precious and timely message today from Sue of Westhampton, Mass. via P.O. Box 205, Cambridge, N.Y., 12816), a letter containing a parable of mortality that touched me deeply and inspired me to appreciate my life, at every stage,  and to imagine a future I want, not a future others tell me I will have.

Sue tells me her own story, she is happily married to a man 17 years older, and the story of his uncle, who was 18 years older than his wife. Given the odds, she wrote, one would expect that the younger spouses would take care of their husbands as they aged.

“But you know what happened?,” she wrote. “While Ted stayed healthy and active, Nina began to show signs of early Alzheimers when she was in her 60s and Ted was in his 80’s. But the time she was 70 (and Ted was 88), Ted needed to take care of much of her daily needs. Finally, when she was 71, Ted could no longer manage her care; she was admitted to a facility where she passed away at age 72.”

Ted was 90 when he died, Sue wrote. He continued to live alone, chopping his own firewood and driving and gardening for several more years.  Last year, a nephew stopped by Ted’s house to visit and found him at the bottom of the cellar stairs, dead from a stroke.  He was 93 and had outlived his wife by three years.

I imagine Sue was writing me this parable because she had been reading my writings on being mortal. I have been thinking a bit about death and aging, I don’t wish to live in denial of it.

I told Maria this morning that one of the big changes in my life is that I never used to think about my body or pay much attention to it, but that is not possible as I grow older.

I am healthy and more active than ever, but I am often aware of my body, it doesn’t seem work and work without thought or care. It demands some attention, and that is overdue. Things hurt, muscles ache, my heart has surely gotten my attention, there are pills to take. Supermarket clerks have begun to ask me if I need help carrying my groceries to the car (I do not) and cashiers sometimes offer me senior discounts I don’t need or seek. Give them to some younger people with kids, I suggest.

For the first time in my life, I reserved a train ride to New York City and bought a “senior” ticket for myself, I saved five or six dollars. It adds up.  Thinking of aging, preparing intelligently for death, I see that I need to form a different view of myself in some ways. I am not immortal, I am not invincible. But I am still healthy and can do all of the things I love.

There are somethings I can no longer do and should no longer do. I stay inside on icy days, it is important that I not fall. When we walk in the woods, I need to sometimes think about how soft the ground is,  how slick, and what shoes I need to wear. I can’t haul as many things as I used to haul for as far or as long. People hold doors open for me in restaurants and stores. There is a shuffle to my walk that sometimes embarrasses me. My friend Scot is going to teach me Tai Chi in the Spring.

I eat carefully and thoughtfully. I do think about my body, I don’t intend to overthink my body, but I am paying attention to it.  We have a conversation, every day when I wake up. How are you doing today?, I ask.

Open heart surgery can ruin your health or salvage it, depending on your head. I wasn’t paying attention, and nearly came to a death that was well before my time, I see what it is like to walk easily and comfortably.

And yes, I do think about the age difference between me and Maria. I woke up thinking about it this morning, I had a dream in which I died, and Maria had to deal with my loss, the farm, finances and everything else by herself. It was a nightmare for me, I always hoped to leave her comfortable and cared for. I was raised in a Jewish middle-class world, the man was supposed to provide and look ahead.

But then again, there were no Jews I knew who ran off to buy farms in their 50’s, get divorced, drown in a recession and start anew. Nothing is free, this is the life I chose and I have loved it every day, and that is a joy to write.

I also know that is, in some ways, a patronizing and sexist way to think. Maria is tough and gifted and determined, she can take care of herself. And our love is nothing but a gift, I will not turn it into a misery or regret. We are deeply happy, and I believe Maria and she believes me when we tell the other that no matter what happens, we will each be grateful to care for the other and help each other leave the world in love.

But the pathway to death is like that, you do think of it, I am closer to it than not. Thinking of it is a good thing, people who think about it once in awhile have the best chance to die well and in the way they want. Death is not the enemy, it is a part of life, I want to face it, not fear it.

So Sue’s letter was yet another gift from my magical P.O. Box 205, a portal to so many good people who are kind and thoughtful and wise.

“So see?,” said Sue of her parable. “One never knows what the future holds. And I believe (I suspect Maria would agree), that the age different between my husband and I doesn’t matter. What does matter is that we get to spend every day with our soulmate, and we are deeply happy. And whoever of us dies first, the other will be there to be sure that the journey into death is filled with as much love as in life.”

And this is the thing about my mystical P.O. Box 205 Cambridge, N.Y., 12816. What are the odds I would have a dream like that early this morning and get this letter from Sue a few hours later, sitting in my Post Office Box. Lots of messages there, in the letter and by virtue of its very existence.

Thanks for writing Sue. One never knows what the future holds.