I used to think I was scared by death. Or by facing death-by combat and action and the uncertainty of the battlefield. Not any more. no, now what scares me is the possibility I might live to grow old. I might wake up one day tired and wasted and unable even to open a beer. I might need crutches and a hearing aid and help getting dressed When and if I get to that point, it’ll be my memories they’ll keep me going. The fact that I’ve lived through so much, survived so much, to get there.
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