Early this morning, a body covered with a white sheet lay on the sidewalk next to the Publix parking lot. Apparently, a pedestrian was hit by a car. I don’t know the person’s age, but I assume they didn’t wake up thinking that today was the day they would die.

There are life expectancy charts that suggest I have eight to 10 years to live. That’s for a white, healthy, well-educated, American, 78-year-old male living in Florida. Ray is projected to have three years more than me, as I’m three years older than him.

What does it mean to me that I might have just eight more years? I could live much longer, but I could also be a corpse covered by a white sheet on the sidewalk you’d drive by. How long do I want to live? How quickly will the next eight years pass? I don’t have a bucket list. With the publication of my memoir, “A Prince of a Boy,” do I have anything more meaningful to say? What’s the purpose of the remainder of my life?

I know that you can’t count on anything happening the way it is expected, but with fingers crossed Ray and I will celebrate our 50th anniversary but probably not our 60th. Sebastian’s life expectancy as an Aussiedoodle is 10 to 12 years. Our 30-year-old red Mercedes convertible with 65,000 miles is supposed to be good until 150,000 to 250,000. It will outlast the three of us.

Ray sometimes will ask me, “Why are you so preoccupied with death?”

I’m not pre-occupied, but I’m inquisitive and fascinated. I’m also a little scared, imagining my life should Ray die first.

Age isn’t an issue for me. I like being 78. I’m not an Instagram or TikTok guy. I check my e-mail more reliably than I do texts.  I refer to myself as “gay” rather than “queer.” I prefer the original rainbow flag. I can’t imagine myself putting personal pronouns beneath my name in correspondence. My short-term memory is unreliable. I get up at six, take daily naps, eat dinner by four, and head to bed at eight. I’m not set in my ways, nor in my thinking, but I acknowledge to myself that I am old.

Some of the advantages of age can be the wisdom to let things go, to take time to read a book, enjoy the moment I’m in, talk with Ray, swim daily with the dog, not change clothes if I get a stain on my shirt, laugh about my running commentary on the Netflix movie or series. I like not being in a hurry.

I feel as if I’ve lived a full, meaningful life and that I’m very privileged to have been in a 48-year relationship with my soulmate. We’re always on the same page. I adore him and he me.

I hope all of that was true for the person under the sheet on the sidewalk.