Intimations of mortality

The next time that my birthday arrives, I'll have had just as many birthdays as my own father had, and five more than his mother had. I'm not sure what to think about that and never had thought about it until reading Paul Burka's (Texas Monthly) investigation into the life of his own father. Burka was not quite five when his father died; I was about eight months old when mine died. I apologize to Wordsworth for the title of this entry.