He asked about dying. 

I don’t plan on dying, I say with a smile.

You don’t plan on dying? You think you will live forever?

 No. I think I will live to be a normal old age.

Okay, he says.  So between now and let’s assume, eighty something, in that thirty years, what do you see for yourself?

Quietly in reply these words, I don’t look forward and I don’t think back.  I believe each day is a new beginning.

We pause.

I do not trust.  He should know that I am trying. 

After all, dying is inevitable so why think of it.  To think about dying is to imply that I comprehend it.  I don’t. 

 I will not live in death’s domain. 

I do not do vulnerable well.