Me and my monkey.

We’re all 85.

Cosmetically we don’t look it. We’ve got robots grandkids, and nobody has to move or work anymore because we’re all attached to a universal monorail that transports us everywhere whilst the robots do our bidding. Maybe.  

........................................

Now statistically, as a plausible guestimate. 18 of us are dead. It was quick, it didn’t hurt, don’t worry.

23 of us have Alzheimer's/Dementia

3 Parkinsons

4 MS

7 Miscellaneous

and 1 Huntington’s

And the rest….well we’re alive – we made it! 

But wait, I need to take you somewhere:

Meet Al, 98, he loves carpentry to the extent the care home has too many bird boxes and hedgehog huts. He has a ponytail, refuses to wear wide fitting slippers, and drives his motorbility scooter far too fast in the corridor. Scamp.

Then there’s the other Al, 92. He’s a cricket man. Loves a panama in summer and getting pissed in the garden with the other Al…he also dodges the wide fitting slipper.

And Betty. She’s 86, malnourished because she has no appetite. Her breathing is shallow and laboured, her eyesight is gone and her hearing is a BIT LIKE THIS, Betty.

She doesn’t like to socialize with Al, the other Al and her fellow residents.

I like Betty. She’s bright, I’ve seen her laugh a few times.  She responds well to a back rub. 

Though we share mere minutes together a day.

Because Betty stays in her room with her memories.

Waiting.

I’ve heard her mumble to god. Take me Lord, take me. Over and over again.

Take me Lord, take me. Take me Lord, take me. Please take me. Take me Lord.

Betty wants to go, but she’s still here.

(Pause)

Ivy is 100, she has full hair, a wicked smile and a tendency to get the hump. She lies in her bed – as requested - in the dark staring at the ceiling. Ivy used to have a pet monkey.

On Ivy’s dressing table is a sippy cup of juice, and a wealth of chocolate goodies, that she will never reach nor eat. And a card.

It’s from the Queen. I’ve never seen one before.

Silence.

Ivy speaks. “Are you looking at my card?”

Yes.

“I got another one as well you know…”

Silence.

“It was from the treasury, that Iain Duncan Smith….but I threw the bastard across the room”.

.............................

This isn’t about those of us taken too early, this is about those of us taken too late.