From the draft of a novel I have been working on - a coda to "Angels and Electrons" - much to be done:
From Jude’s journal:
When you’re old and it’s imminent and inevitable and it will probably be more painful than you’d like but hey, you’ve known for 70 years it was coming and have been trying to forestall it for maybe 30-40 and bracing yourself against it for maybe 10, and so here you are staring at that final point of light on the ceiling without the strength to even shift your eyes, and if all you can do at this moment is wish you’d asked this girl out instead of that one, that’s a monumentally big deal but you’re probably ready to pass on.
But cling to this: maybe there’s a reboot button on the other side, and maybe the young version of her will be there waiting like a single drop of dew on the petal of a lily, the surface tension of the dew drop vibrating to the unheard frequency of the breath of God. And what you actually hear is not an angel choir but Martha Reeves and the Vandellas singing “Heatwave”.