You’ve heard it said, I am sure, that “growing old isn’t for the … ”

Wimpy. Weak. Pansies. Faint-hearted. You know more of them. Of that I also am sure. I mention this because of a realization I made the other day while reaching out to a good friend who I’ve known since we were teenagers back in our hometown of Portland, Ore.

I hadn’t heard from this friend in, oh, several months. He normally keeps up with this blog and gets in touch with me via social media on a fairly regular basis.

He went off the proverbial grid. Or so I thought.

I reached out to another friend, a former high school classmate, to ask whether he had heard from our mutual pal. He said he hadn’t heard a word from him … or nothing about him. I told Friend No. 2 I would call the “lost” friend to see how he’s doing.

I did. He answered his phone. “Hey, man,” I said. “I have been thinking about you and wondered how you’re doing. I hadn’t heard from you in some time, so I am just checking in with you.”

We chatted some more. His voice sounded strong. He told me he had some surgery on his neck to take care of a “lymph node problem.” I then told him of my concern. “Hey, we’re all of a certain age that when I don’t hear from one of my peers, I start thinking the worst,” I said. My pal laughed out loud. He knew precisely what I meant.

How old are we? We’re in our mid-70s. We graduated from high school in the Summer of Love, 1967. Many of us went to war right after high school. Many of my friends have flourished, raised fine families and, of course, endured our share of tragedy and heartbreak.

I suppose this is my recognition that since time is no one’s friend that a sense of mortality has this way of creeping up on all of us.

Live life to the fullest, y’all. Because you never know …