When this television news anchorman who is fighting brain cancer in Illinois shared with viewers (and the whole world) that he was told by his doctors that he only has four to six months to live; I could not help but admire his bravery and honesty and his faith in God.
And of course he made me think about what I would do, and how would I spend my time, if I learned that I only had six months left to live myself.
Would I do the same things I am doing now, only with a little more care?
Would I want to continue working for as long as I can like Dave wants to?
Or would I want something more?
The answer is something more.
I would want more joy, more kayaking at sunset, more home cooked meals shared with my Cohort of Awesome, more clarity, more soul-stirring Masses that leaves me spiritually sated, more giving, and certainly more Love. I would want to celebrate each day that I woke up and realized that I was still in the land of the living. I would want a life that has room for only the things that matter.
Would I still worry about the past? I don’t think so. I would probably bless it and let go of all the shitty things I still hold on to once and for all. I would probably accept finally that my life is not perfect but it is wonderfully imperfect just as it is. Cuz it’s mine.
Would I count my blessings each day? Yes and I would probably keep a gratitude journal just to remind myself every day of all the things I have to be grateful for.
Would I hold on to all the stuff I’m keeping “just in case”? If I’m honest, those things would probably be the first to go.
The really big question now that I’ve done all these brain things is: What am I waiting on to start doing those things NOW? In the time I do have?
I’m not promised tomorrow…two weeks or even six more months. So what am I waiting on to start living the life I described above?
Sadly, my dad was in the shoes of the news anchor you’re talking about. Brain cancer. 6 months to live. Maybe a year with surgery. Miraculously, he lived 6-1/2 years. But they were hard ones. Very hard ones. So I think about this often. Why is it that we wait until we hear we’re dying to live? Why is it that it takes us hearing a loved one is dying to see all the things we love in them? This has been heavy on my mind as the anniversary of my dad’s death approaches. I love that you’re thinking about the things you would do, but I hope even more that you do them.
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My heart goes out to you Amy. I’m sorry about your Dad. I am trying to incorporate each answer into my daily life. Because all we really have is right now.