Another Ten Years

I'm reading "Water for Elephants", a novel by Sara Gruen. The "90 or 93 years old, I can't remember" man in a nursing home is being checked by the nurse, who says, "Mr. Jankowski, if you keep your weight up, you could have another ten years."

My mother-in-law is 99. My mother is 93. I know my mother-in-law doesn't want another ten years. She doesn't want the last ten years she had. She's been wanting to go for twenty years, if you believe what she says.

I'm feeling very alone with the impending departure of my grands, the total lack of a significant other — or hope for same — in my life, a life that's filled with busy-ness but not happy-ness, and a job that's currently feeling rather boring. I think I could change one of those things, but the thought of needing to change all of them is rather daunting.

And the thought of ten more years living alone and lonely. No thanks. I'm not interested.

How much change can I bite off without choking?