I sure didn't expect to bite the dust at the age of a hundred and three. Which, looking back, probably shouldn't have exactly been a shocker.

But you always figure you still have a little more gas left in the tank.

Well, maybe not so much in your seventies and eighties. Around then you're wetting your pants, worrying about life expectancy and bladder control—another reason why you're wetting your pants.

But once you hit your nineties, things just sort of settle down. You figure, hey, this rumpled bag of bones still has some juice left yet.

Then, assuming you don't have some crippling ailment or that terrible brain softening disease (another thing to worry about in your seventies), you get to enjoy life for a few years.

There's morning brunch. Afternoon chess matches. Those damned confusing electronic games with your grandkids.

Or if you don't have a family, engage in some love affairs with some of your fellow residents at the senior home while the pistol is still working. (At least that's what I'm told. I’ve never lived in a senior home.)

But no matter how long you last, it all sort of ends the same way. The decay catches up to you.

I remember waking early that morning, still in a dream that replayed my younger years, back when Lucy and I were breaking our necks trying to get our first store up.

I could still feel the weight of our debts, leveraged to our eyeballs while waiting for our V-Mart settlement to come in. Then I felt the urgent need for the ol’ chamber pot, still half in the dream, and I looked down and saw my legs as I tried to get out of bed.

It took me a full breath to realize the two pale stick-looking things jutting out from under me were mine.

I panicked. What had happened to my calves? I used to run marathons and climb mountains.

Then I really woke up.

Mary came in then because she heard me screaming. She asked if everything was alright, and I said it was fine. Then she asked if I wanted her to get Dr. Lee, which is what she always asks. I'm pretty sure she’s carrying a torch for Dr. Lee.

On second thought, given how she’s always asking after him and coming up with every excuse in the book to bring the man over to the manor house, perhaps it's more of a bonfire. Either that or she's just terribly worried about the sorry state of my body.

It's hard to tell sometimes when you’re old. You just aren’t as good at getting a read on people as you used to, especially young people. But I figure it’s probably both reasons.

I told her I didn't need Dr. Lee, which was probably a mistake given what eventually happened. Mary gave me a small frown but didn’t argue (no one does) and helped me out of bed and into my pajamas.

It’s the damndest thing to have a woman a quarter your age dress you, but like everything else in life, you eventually get used to it.

Then she put me into Xavier—what I call my electric wheelchair. I avoided the darn thing all through my late nineties. You don’t go through life expecting to ever have to be ass-locked to one, and so when the day comes that you need one, it’s only natural that you fight it with tooth and nail.

Then I had a fall a few years ago. Fight reality all you want, eventually it’ll punch back.

So I reluctantly bought the chair at the behest of my family and Dr. Lee.

When I was a young man, I’d always thought that age was something I’d have to confront when I was thirty-five or forty-five, accept it and adapt to it. (Funny now, thinking those ages were "old.")

But the truth is that getting older is something you’ll face again and again until the day you die, if you’re that lucky.

What I had to face on the day I bought Xavier was the fact that wet tile and the lava of Mount Doom are essentially indiscernible for a man of my years.

But it actually turned out just fine. The chair was darned fast, almost fast enough to make everyone regret urging me to buy it. I even got them to put it in the stores for a while. It didn’t last. I guess it was a little too expensive for most folks. It’s still sold on our online retail though. The one unfortunate thing was that I’ve spent all my time in it ever since.

I rolled after Mary to the elevator, then out and down the hall to the terrace where I take my breakfast every day. It’s got a fine view of the northern beach and the sea as far as the eye can see.

Sometimes I chuckle to myself when I’m out there watching the currents. I used to lambast rich fellas that bought islands, and I hate to think what Lucy would have thought if she could see all this.

Of course, I knew what she would have said. “That’s mighty excessive, Sam. Mighty excessive.”

She would have been mortified and she’d have forced me to get rid of the whole doggone island. But what else is there to do when you’re old? Fine weather and a golf course to myself was probably why I’d lasted as long as I did.

George and Mary came out with several platters after I sat down, and George explained the food—amuse-bouche, truffle-cured egg and duck confit hash. I let him mix it up, mainly for his sake than mine. I'm pretty happy with toast and sunny side up eggs, but you can't ask a world class chef to make that every day. Then all three of them wished me a happy birthday.

I'd entirely forgotten. I was a hundred and three years old.

✣ ✣ ✣

I spent the rest of the morning and the afternoon in the study, looking through the latest quarterly earnings. I'm no longer involved with the company, and it's just all numbers at this point. But it's the only real fun I have these days, getting to see how many new stores we’ve opened and where we’re expanding to next.

Then the latest fella we put in charge of the whole operation called me to wish me a happy birthday. He's a bit of a scoundrel, you know the type—so slick he’s a little greasy—but at least he knows his manners.

I couldn't help but give him a ribbing for some softness in our apparel department. He took it good-naturedly without any pushback (which is also why he's a little scoundrel).

I also received calls from some colleagues from the good old days that were still hanging on for dear life like me (one of them was having a grand old time living at a luxury retirement home).

Several more people called that I’d never heard of or had forgotten about, you know, media and celebrity types, and so I had Mary take their messages. But it was nice for them to call.

None of my family called. Some of them sent me text messages, the grandkids mainly, but my own sons and daughters didn't ring in. They'd all come out to the island for my hundredth birthday, and I guess they figured that was enough effort for a few years.

That's the problem when you give out the inheritance before you die. The youngsters don't pay as much attention to you. On the other hand, they also aren't waiting for you to die. So, I suppose it's worth the trade.

But I couldn't really blame them. My children were all old now too, in their seventies worrying about life expectancy and bladders and what not. One of my sons even got the Alzy. His kids think it came from my wife's side of the family, but I think it was from not working a day of his life, which, I've been told by Dr. Lee, probably didn't help.

He's a good man Dr. Lee. He came by in the afternoon to say hello and wish me a happy birthday. I like being in his presence, not as much as Mary likes it, but well enough. He's a young handsome man and smart too.

I tell him from time to time he should get off this damned island and go make something of himself. But I guess getting an M.D. from the world's top medical school and living in a luxury guest house on a private island in the Carribean, getting paid what he's getting paid, is already success enough. To each their own, I suppose.

Oh, I shouldn't say none of my family called. I did receive a call from Hazel, one of my great granddaughters. She wished me happy birthday and filled me in on school life. Hazel’s a freshman at her dream college. I'd say I'm proud of her for getting in, but her grades and extracurriculars didn't have much to do with her getting accepted. It's just that few doors are closed for my family.

Sometimes I wonder if I'm doing right by them by giving them everything. I suppose not, but it feels good to take care of the people you love. Especially when you weren’t around much when you should have been.

I guess if I had any regrets in my life, it was that I never got around to taking care of the right people.

In any case, I am proud of her for being who she is. She's turning out to be a bright young woman with an awareness for the world despite the environment she grew up in. Out of everyone in my family, she's the one I worry about the least.

✣ ✣ ✣

George cooked me my favorite meal that evening. Thanksgiving dinner with roast turkey, stuffing, mashed potatoes, and homemade cranberry sauce. He minced the meat so I could chew it down easily. It was delicious.

Then the staff brought out a big chocolate cake and I blew out the big, orange 103 candle on it. I don’t know where they found the candle, they sure as heck don’t make those every day.

We all sat around the dining room table and ate the cake together. I can’t remember what we talked about, but it was good fun. Spend enough time with good people, and they’ll start to feel like family no matter who they are. That’s how it always is.

Afterward, Mary drew me a bath, and then I watched a late-night talk show on the flat screen in bed. I didn't make it all the way through. I did get a few chuckles in, but comedy on TV isn't what it used to be back in my day, and that’s something that I’ve found even the youngsters would agree with. I turned it off along with the lights and tapped the button that flattened the bed.

As I laid there, I felt my heart skip a beat, but I figured it was because I’d been thinking about Lucy again. We used to have the grandest parties on our birthdays. Those were the only times she’d allow any “excesses.”

She loved people, and she loved having fun with a big get-together. We'd invite dignitaries, our favorite celebrities, politicians (sometimes our least favorite just to stay neutral), and all our friends and family.

It'd been over fifty years since she'd passed. And yet I still remember those times as if it were yesterday, especially the ones of our youth and the thrill of building a company together from the ground up.

I had lived a full life with few regrets. Everything I ever wanted to do, I ended up doing one way or another.

But if I did have a wish, a birthday wish, if you will, it would be to do it all over again.

It would be to play the game of life once more.