With some unimaginable news, my life was forecasted for me. Not in steps to take or how to take them as I could still blindly navigate that. It was the time that was finite. It already is, really – it always feels shorter than expected – but now it was being tracked. I could feel my breaths heavy like a weight was placed on my chest. Each exhale felt easier and the strain to inhale seemed increasingly harder. Maybe it was the weight of reality or the dreams being siphoned from me. Looking back, I did navigate the grief cycle… in my own hurried way. There was just no time to savor or expand on each thought. To feel. To let it sink in. I had to marinate in reality while pressing on with whatever I had left. But I dare say, it was quite the ride. My main regret being only that I had not viewed all of life with this lens.
The first days were lost to me. People say reality is hard. Or cold. Yet, it is hard to explain something that you do not yet posses. Empathy is necessary but often an exercise not truly realized. Immediate things came to mind. My children. My partner, Q. Thoughts of having to work – or not… And what was the real purpose of work? Money had lost its value but the rest of the planet still desired it. Like a pickpocket to a cadaver, the world continued on… without remorse. My thoughts were exhaustingly scattered. I had to start writing things down; I had to make lists. It was hard to make a Gantt chart for life when the culmination of the project would never be fully realized or appreciated by you. The thing about a legacy, apparently, is you don’t really get to see it.
I was frozen in my apartment. My hygiene was in a bad way. The life forces that I had in the just prior were pummeled out of me with a barrage of what if’s, I can’ts, and I need to’s. The lack of time to see or feel any hope destroyed motivation. Even when we are down and having a bad day – there is a hidden hope that we take for granted. But there were still things to be done and the administrative ones were the easiest to conquer. And while it took much longer than it could have, it probably took as much time as it should have. Then, one day, realizing that five months, two weeks and some-odd-hours were left, I got dressed (the first time since finding out). It was the highlight for over a week really. Putting on an entire outfit that was clean, and looked halfway decent, had been seemingly too difficult. After all, what does it matter in the big picture?
Time marched on. It is funny to note the things we do daily – see daily – and realize we may never see that again. The way the ink bleeds on the written page, like a kind of Rorschach image from a pen left too long. The slightly gold egg whites crisping in the butter. The smell of breakfast, any time of day, is comforting… The birds dancing in the window sill. Each calling to one another as if telling the world where they are, what they are doing. Robotic like movements as they twitch to watch the world around them… They do not care for these worries I am having. Life just is and each day must press on. Why don’t we?
I needed to collect my thoughts, so I decided to get away. I had been meaning to visit Colorado for a while and that was as good of a time as any. Probably the best time, considering. My partner did not have the kids the weekend after the news so an impromptu trip was embarked on. Buena Vista, CO – a small town outside of Denver. The home of my first God-realization. In high school, I went on a Young Life summer camp trip. My first and only real camp experience. We would gather in circles at the end of the night and bare our souls. I confessed my sin, my confusion, and prayed. I could recall laying on a camping bag, under the stars, in the mountains, the shimmering white dots in the crisp night’s sky. I found myself then. And I needed to do that again. This time, there was urgency my teenage self could not have imagined, but cutting ties with the present, I needed prayer. Thought. Organization.
We spent four days there. Four days where reading was more purposeful. I spent the majority of my alone time reflecting on Job. Anytime in life that I have been doubtful, felt things were unfair, I have meditated on the words, rereading each page. Seeing new gems each time. This study was no different. Not being able to sleep much, my mind constantly turning over on itself, I marinated in the word. Reflection was heavy. I am sure I followed the normal phases of the grief process. Memories. Feelings that opportunities were taken away.
At first, many nights went this way. Internal rants and a feeling of being misplaced. The trip was short as were the days but the nights seemed long. The words were bold on black and white by the hotel moonlight. The desk was used more than the bed and other amenities combined. Clarity came in midnight hours. Q and I enjoyed the nights together. We had late talks, as our meals settled and the attempted normalcy of our landing routines continued. Anchors and sails, the highlight reel to roads traveled.
I wrote even more letters. While still thinking clearly, not overcome with medication, I wanted to acknowledge people and the love I had for them. The letters were drafted over the months leading up to the final days. A final greeting – hug – remembrance for friends and family. Each with instructions to be sent when I pass. I also assigned caretakers for my social accounts. That is a real thing, I guess. I didn’t plan on those accounts remaining active, but for the family to collect the photos that I have put together over a lifetime of Facebook-ing. It was hard to determine what needs to be said or said again. What did I need to say in my last words, even if they were watermarked by tears? Happy tears. Sad tears. The blue lines and black ink trailed deep thoughts and stopped with new thoughts. Stay positive – thoughts to myself. I am sure the notes would have been better at the end, having worked through a grieving cycle, but the words would surely escape me.
I was able to step out of my comfort zone. Almost, as if, an out of body experience. Dancing in stores and singing in the car to that song… that song came much easier. There wasn’t a need to look around and be aware of my audience. What will they say? No, they didn’t matter. Ram Dass was right. The soul doesn’t need to cling to things; the ego is separate from the soul and has different outlooks. I just let myself try to be… So, the singing felt natural. After getting back from CO, the Avett Bros. were in town and it was a great chance to exploit my singing abilities.
The concert was freeing. The songs were even more fantastic than my memory propped them up to be. We were able to be close which made all of the difference. Kickdrums thumping and vibrating through our bodies. The crowd singing along – almost as loud as the speaker at the amphitheater. It was another priceless moment. Forgetting everything and just being is freeing. We stayed until the last song, and the encore, and found a row of chairs after it was well over. No rush. The lights came back on and the stagehands started disassembling the sets. Like ants on candy when it starts to rain – the crowd fled. But not us. We talked louder than we needed to – a result of having our hearing altered from the seats that we had. Singing together, our favorite songs in unison. The night had to end. We drove silently, listening to the Avett Bros. channel on Amazon Music driving back home. Each stripe in the highway seemed significant.
The days seemed to have more treasure than before and the sands of time drawn into the cracks like filling. Necessary but not needed. To get my affairs in order, I felt like I notarized, signed, and sent out forests of paper. Each tree proclaiming some important thing that needed to be said. Who gets what, what goes where, when this and when that… It seemed so pointless now and surreal. The papers never seemed to end… and I kept coming back to them. Reality faded in and out. The autopilot would kick in and I would then worry if it was fair. What was fair, would haunt me… A life divided into possessions for the taking. It took some time but I managed to work through the list.
While I was still able to move about and had the energy to enjoy it, I took a couple of weeks to visit all of my kids. In these moments I had major regrets about the non-traditional life I had adopted. Never-the-less, I needed and got, some solid time with my kids.
The winters are long and cold there, and the weather was cold. I did not share the exact nature of my trip – it was not the time or place to paint a grim story for them. News like this dampens any mood and I wanted to enjoy them. Their true form. The silly stories, imaginary adventures. The smell of their hair. Twinkles in eyes and childlike smiles. Aged a bit with time and lesson. I took it all in. I savored every smell. Every giggle. We spent the week seeing a movie, walking the mall, seeing their schools. I watched my daughter start in a basketball game, witnessed an intense video game brawl as each of us attempted to show up the other and walked away with drawings, snapshots, and memories.
The week went quickly. I had to end a few outings early – the meds overtook me and the numbness zapped my senses. An obvious sign that things do progress and I was working through my allotted time. Sometimes, guesses are wrong; sometimes people live years beyond, sometimes they’re taken quickly, but this prognosis felt spot on. There were moments that I escaped and forgot my reality. Playing with my kids. Hearing their little life stories. Until the pains set in. We spent the week seeing a movie, walking the mall, seeing their schools. Finally, it was my last day with them and I suffered it out. My feet were heavy and arms ached. My neck stiffened but not too much for a hug. I kissed foreheads and I love yous were shared. And I lied to them. See you soon. The trip prepared me for the final stretches. At least enough love to get to the destination.
I made it back home. Well, it was no longer home since I would be moving soon. It is funny how it felt foreign all of a sudden. I remember planning a life there. I guess, in a way, I did have that life. I drove by my mother’s house, but I did not have a conversation in me. I parked a block away and just watched for a short time. I replayed conversations that I remembered. She tried so hard to be a part of my life, but I did not have it in me. Ever… so it would seem. Psychological scars restricted my movement and reaching out was never something I could do. In my mind it was different. A different path in my “Choose Your Own Adventure”. I would reread the novel and make a few different choices if that was a possibility. Taking a mental image I repeated the process near my dad’s.
He still lived at the property I grew up on. The house was rebuilt but the yard remained the same. The fields to the right and behind. The train tracks only hundreds of feet away. I remember waking up to the horns as the train roared over the tiny bridge over a creek. The flag he put up when I joined the NAVY. He was so proud of it when he put it up. I remember the letters in boot camp and tears when I finally felt accomplished. The snotty noses, the wailing, the ear splitting yelling, the holes in the wall… they seemed irrelevant when I read those letters. Sitting in my car, I refocused my thoughts on fishing trips. The early mornings on the water, a light fog floating above the water. The cool air and warm spring water made magic at the end of the pole. The pink sky and orange horizon identified the perfect time to cast. We didn’t talk much as to not scare the fish – but we didn’t need to. A man and his young son found comfort in actions not words. The splash, plop and bending poles said everything we needed to. The reminiscing abruptly ended with the thought: I would never get to take my kids again. My grandkids would learn to fish from someone else. I simmered in the thoughts for a while. It was time to drive away.
Grandma and Grandpa’s graves were cleared off. Others loved them too. The stones were not as shiny as when I last spent time, really spent time, hovering over them so long ago. The weather was cloudy that day. It was the onset of a storm. Layers of cumulus clouds floated in the sky. Solid dark grey in the background and a lighter layer floating quickly by. Like stuffing in a worn quilt, they seemed to protrude and escape as if they did not belong and were hurried along to their real destination. It wouldn’t rain that day, but by the looks, it should have. We talked for a while and my words filled the air. I shared all of the adventures. The triumphs. The hard lessons that they probably already knew. How the kids looked when I saw them last. How proud they would be of them.
I reminded Grandma and Grandpa that they did get to experience the one wish they’d had while I was growing up: to meet all of my kids. It is a shame that they could not see them now. I told them that I missed their smiles. Laughs. Sarcasm. You know, the funny thing about sorrow and death seems to be, that it is fleeting when it is not the big idea anymore. When it is not the climactic dramatic thing happening to someone else. For once, there was an appreciation. Maybe that is what getting older feels like. I can only imagine that. I said goodbye and that I hope we get to cross paths again. I picked the last leaves off the headstones and got into the car. It was becoming my time now.
The next week, when I was slightly more rested, I dug out the boxes which held my entire life in photos. From the time I left my condo with only three bags, through several water incidents, the survived and found a way back to me. The boxes contained stills of time. The only family heirlooms that I had left, passed on from family to family. I took them once and scanned each one. As I worked on a family tree, I uploaded all of the artifacts. My desire as the last gatekeeper was to let the records live on. Perhaps one of my children will acquire the curiosity one day. The records will be there. Waiting. Until then, the photos are sorted and boxed according to family. I placed the journals with lineage and facts with them and sealed the boxes in plastic bags with tiny crystals to absorb moisture. You know, the kind that looks like fancy candy for children. The will had instructions as to where to get them and what the sets mean. The last place that I’ll see them is the security deposit boxes at the bank. I rented several boxes and paid for rent for several years. In each box, photos, journals and a digital drive with everything backed up. I sealed doors, signed out and said goodbye.
It is fitting that the last movie I watched was called About Time. Being idle, I snuggled under the warm blankets. The coldness was set aside and Q folded into me like a matched puzzle piece. Tears came as I watched a young man learn he has the ability to go back into time. At first, it was to change things. Set things right for himself and for others. All, in this story, were full of good intentions. The young man jumped back several times, here and there. Once, he went back to just appreciate the things overlooked. He saw his favorite moments with his dad. He watched the kids run and play. Their hair bobbing as they ran and the giggles, oh the giggles. I found myself desiring that ability. Those times I was too busy; the work that had to be done. The consequences of the paths that I chose, set aside for a retake. Just for a moment. To see what I did not, one more time. Like him, I think things did happen just as they needed to and there is no changing that. The life that was supposed to be, is going to be, and that lack of control is something I have come to terms with. Especially with abrupt realities. The movie was fitting and drew in a flood of remembrance. I drifted off in her arms that night. Content and full of peace.
Breathing is harder these days. Shallow breaths and cold limbs. It is often a workout to perform routine and menial tasks. I truly understand what Grandma and Grandpa felt now. Tired with only a few hours awake. Sore muscles and the strain was shifting sides of the bed. The intensity of it all correlates to the time that I have left. In standard Joe form, I get the things just as they were said to be. I was not the lucky one – that had the miracle cure, nor was I robbed of the days predicted left. Like Goldilocks, it was just right. And that is a true statement in more ways than guessed breaths left to take. It did in fact, all work out.
The days roll together and this will be my final entry. The final thoughts that I assemble in paragraph form. I wanted so many things in this lifetime. I was busy chasing the things in front of me and did not see the things beside me. Now I turn and see those behind me, and just wish they were aside… The blessings were all around though. The giggles will still be had, and new stories will come about all the time. Get-togethers will contain phrases like “remember when…” I have been a blessed man and it took six months to find that which was already there. These thoughts are nothing new but are the result of slowing down long enough to appreciate them.
It is like eating, I imagine. The purpose at face value is to nourish your body; the real values are from the dinner table conversations. The great news to share and exciting accomplishments. Hard discussions and important decisions have their place too. The real values also include savoring the sensations of what you were actually doing. The buttery potato with small chunks and little grits of salt. The crunch of the breading on a deep-fried tenderloin as the juices slide over your lips. The recipe which they came from, Grandma’s, and the cooking with others to make it. It will also be passed on when others try to recreate all of it. The value is in all of the storylines that intersect, each moment, for that particular moment. And as Buddhistic views point out, these things… silly and insignificant or bold and triumphant, really are not good or bad. They are things and it is how we see them that matters. It is how we endure, and savor, and share and learn… Too many futures and many pasts. I love you all. ~Me.
The End.
For anyone that is now confused… This was imaginary for me: fictional. I am blessed to go on, today. I wanted to think now, about then… how it would be, looking back and evaluating what I would have done. I needed to immerse myself, with what I know, into the feelings. Like an actor preparing for a role, this was me stepping into a character. I have known several people in circumstances where similar instances did actually happen. Some fell to health ailments and old age. Some to just old age. Others from some ailment that pirated life like a thief in the night. Some so abrupt; here one day – gone the next. This was me, writing about a potential reality. The chance that it could happen. The likelihood that it could happen. I did not want to make a list of 100 items like it was some greatest hits album. I wanted to immerse myself into a reality – and think through what that would mean, to me. I wanted to imagine it as my new reality, even for a moment. The point is this: If you had only a certain amount of time to live – what would you do with it? With the scary, unnatural, realities of cancer or perhaps some new rare disease always around us – the odds are not as far fetched as we would like to hope. And with little planning, grandiose is less likely. Not the bucket wish list with broad strokes painting all the glamour you see in the movies.
Most likely, time would be issued to you, and the noun here would be fading away. You would likely grow weaker, and abilities would wane. Sentences like this come at a cost. More than just days, but a reason there are fewer of them? It is as if when death comes early and is not sudden, it needs to catch the vessel up to that moment. The mind and the body deteriorate rapidly to cross the finish line together. When your day proclaims itself, you have to be in a certain way to cross the river. So what would you really do? Imagine this for some time. While it sounds fanciful to list this grand bucket list – with less health and only a short time – is scaling Mt. Everest, really an option? With only a certain time left – what would care to invest in? Or even be able to? What messages would you send out into the world?
Now that you and I have those listed. You, mentally or with you there… Me, above… What is stopping us from doing those things? There is only one thing that Joel Osteen says that I agree with, “Your best life now…” Let’s make a plan – and do it.
best – Joe
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