I once knew an old man
and when he reached that point
they chucked him into a nursing home
and sorted through his things
to take and sell and otherwise throw away.
Thereafter, I visited him once a week.
He was a spiritual man
a Baptist longer than I'd then been alive.
He tried telling me
he was ready for the golden ladder,
to cross the river, and the great reunion
and how he could do nothing
now that everything was gone.
He looked forward to being done.
Of course, the young pastor gave rebuttal
along the lines of how sometimes it isn't what you do
as much as it's who you are.
This was the best I could come up with.
One time I even said how he might outlive us all.
God forbid, he replied.
He was patient though, nodded sagely and encouragingly
waiting towards my inability to then understand.