HEART ATTACK

THE CENTER OF LOVE!

How many heart attacks can you survive?   I guess the answer is, "As many as God lets you."  I come from a family in which one was always enough to get you reporting to St. Peter at the Pearly Gates.  And this not just on the paternal side, but the maternal side as well.  Stuff like, "I think I'll sneak in a little nap before supper.  Just call me when you're ready."  By the time my grandmother called for supper, her beloved Joseph had accepted the invitation to have supper in Heaven.   You guessed it, heart attack.  72 years old.  EFR Dion complains that the whiskey he had last night at the shop Christmas party must have been bad.  Ten hours later he too answers the Call.  So it went on the paternal side.  One after the other over a period of about 4 or 5 years.  I got home in 1971 or 2 after the last one had gone home, at the same address where my brother now lives and I was in the barber's chair.  Ol' George Rivest, crusty French Canadian guy asks, "So you came home to visit Ryder, did you?"  Ryder is the undertaker.  Nice guy.  Never really reminded me of Digby "Digger" O'Dell.  If you don't know "Digger" O'Dell, it's Google time for you.  Anyway, George continued, "Yeah, Chief St. Pierre said that they got a call from your mother.  Then they looked at one another and knew what it was all about.  That's a well known address."  
I'm telling you all this because I now know someone who has had four, count 'em, four heart attacks and is just now getting his heart fixed, not by St. Peter, but by earthlings with knives in their hands.  Four!  Don't get me wrong, I'm not jealous.  After all, those Dion boys and girls have been at rest now for a long time, so you can't knock that, but who can ever fathom the Will of God?  I wonder what God has planned for me at my age.  If all those Dions had achieved the plans that He had for them so quickly, I must really be some kind of loser.  Right?  I have no idea. And the Man Upstairs ain't talkin'.  (Some of you can look this reference up in Wisdom, chapter 3.)    Anyway, I'm sure that whatever He wants, he'll get.  When He does, all He has to do is to reach pout His Hand, and I'll go willingly, without incident, as it says on the news.  As if I'll have a choice!   When it happens, remember, No Crying at my Funeral.