Yet another obit

******* ******, the lady instrumental to our first rescue Irish Setter, died suddenly according to an obituary I recently received.
She was born in 1955, 62 years old.
“Good grief,” I thought to myself. “That’s ****’s age, also *****-the-lifeguard at the Canandaigua YMCA swimming pool. She’s 62.” ****’s pushing 64.
My wife made 68. She was taken by cancer almost six years ago. We were the same age, so now I’m 74.
She was the one supposed to make 100. Dunno if I will, but I might. Her mother made it. Her aunt made 98. Their mother, her maternal grandmother, made 96 or so. Anyone female on her mother’s side made well over 90.
My paternal grandfather made 92 or so. Had my wife not developed cancer she woulda made 100.
“Age is just a number,” **** says. ***** I don’t worry about. Ya’d never know she’s 62. She swims laps. She’s in stellar shape.
So was I years ago. I used to run, and was also in stellar shape. Then I had a totally unexpected stroke due to an undiagnosed heart-defect since repaired. Open heart surgery; chisels, buzzsaws, the whole shebang. That was 25 years ago.
My doctors wondered why a runner had a stroke.
I was able to return to running, but stopped when my wife died. She was the one who took our dog. Now I’ve had a knee replaced. I hafta tell airport security lest I trigger Armageddon.
**** I worry about. She’s a great friend, but she’s not *****-the-lifeguard. “50% blockage of my carotid arteries,” she tells me.
“What am I doing here?” I always ask.
“Not yer time yet,” said a lady at the YMCA front desk. “Anyway, yer here to entertain us.”
**** and I swap stories about our childhoods. I wasn’t the mistake she was accused of being, but I was convinced early I was scum. My parents were always mad at me; I had to leave that all behind.
“So why, pray tell, did I hafta lose the BEST friend I ever had to realize I’d been hornswoggled?” **** lost her husband.
So there we were, both bereft of mates that made our lives easier. We could avoid outside contact because we got that at home. **** lived far out in a very rural setting. I still do, but not as far-out as her. She no longer does.
“At our age it’s a blessing just to get up every morning,” **** observed.
Nevertheless, when someone only 62 kicks the bucket I worry.

• Over the last 40 years I’ve had seven dogs, six of whom were Irish-setter, and four of those were rescue. I am currently dogless, hopefully not for long. A “rescue Irish Setter” is an Irish Setter rescued from a bad home; e.g. abusive or a puppy-mill. My most recent rescue was from a failed backyard breeder. By getting a rescue-dog we avoid puppydom, but the dog is often messed up. —My most recent rescue wasn't bad. The one before her had been severely abused.
• I do aquatic therapy in the Canandaigua YMCA swimming pool to counteract questionable balance. I have two classes per week, and try to do extra on-my-own at least one day per weekend, sometimes both days. **** is usually there whenever I am, since she hits the pool often. She co-led the grief-share I attended after my wife died.
• My beloved wife died of cancer April 17th, 2012. I still miss her. BEST friend I ever had, and after my childhood I sure needed one. She actually liked me.
• I had a stroke October 26th, 1993. I pretty much recovered. Just tiny detriments; I can pass for never having had a stroke.