Untitled or Felo-de-se

You see that picture upon the mantle? The one of just you and me, it was taken by your father (God rest his soul) right after we brought you home from the county fair. Ah, that was a great day. I look at that picture from time to time. May chance it is every time I come into this room. I take that picture down and just get lost in those olden days. You were eight if I recall, a mere baby in the eyes of the world. You were such a happy child, so full of life. You still are Greg.
But look at me, my God, how young I looked back then. Just look at how long my lustrous, black hair was back then. And my face, oh my face! It was so youthful—no wrinkles! I cannot remember how it was to look in the mirror and not see those awful crowfeet next to my eyes, the awful sag in jowl, or folds in my neck. How tight my skin clung to my face back then. Oh, you smile now at the way I carry on, but you’ll see. One day it will happen to you, Greg. You’ll wake up for work, early in the morning and go to shave. And you’ll start to notice the creases there. Surely they weren’t there the day before, you’ll ask. But sure enough, that day will soon arrive. And I remember the day when I awoke to my first grey hair. What a shock! I was horrified. I pulled it out and prayed that it would not return. But no avail, when it did return, it brought along one of its friends. This too will happen to you too soon my dear. I was only twenty-nine when I discovered my first. After the first pepper, then you know the rest won’t be far behind. Like the opening of Pandora’s, the rest of grey and old just sets right in. It makes itself right at home. Doesn’t ask, doesn’t need to. It just happens. It’s happened.
And so you must know why I called you over here dear. Oh, don’t give me that sad look. I am going yes, but there is little you or I could do about this going. I have the mind to stay a few more years and would if I could. Believe me. Yet, don’t think of this situation as you are. Sixty years and I gave it my best shot, worked hard, kept my head down, and raised nine wonderful children. Now some punk kid, straight out of college, tells me that I only have a few months left in me. Imagine that? Today, before you, you see a perfectly healthy specimen (grey, sagging, and wrinkled as I may be), and just poof! Just like that, it all goes to hell.
What a way to end a life, in unbearable pain and humiliation where I am resorted to letting someone else wipe my own ass. Don’t shake your head! And wipe those tears from your eyes! Don’t face me like this, act like a man! I want to see my happy child. I want to see the Greg who was in this picture. I want to see the man you are. I cannot bear to have the image of a sniveling baby as my last impression before I leave this earthly plane. No, just you remember, it’s not like I gave out on life, life gave out on me.
Think of it as walking out early on a bad movie. It’s not that the movie itself was terrible, but the ending was just too unbearable to sit through. It was way too predictable and cliché. No, I won’t sit through terrible plot devices to see me through to the end, no, not now, not ever. Thomas told all of us not to go gentle into that good night. But my days won’t be so good, Greg, and my nights will be Hell. And like Hell if I will go gentle! No, I’ll rage all right, rage fine, but not against the dying of the light! I have raged my whole life, and fought it tooth and nail, but now to fight? No, not now, it’s too late for that, and so I go now. Greg, I’m ready, be a good son and pull that trigger.