Mortality

The house is empty today and the pain in my back is gone. And I had some time to think.

I thought about dying, and what I'd do if I had only one month left to live.

I thought of the things I'd have to do in order to put my affairs in order if I wouldn't be around to see Christmas. I thought about the people I'd have to tell. I thought about the things I'd regret, and the things I would celebrate. The answers surprised me sometimes.

Mostly I thought about the letters I'd have to write, to say goodbye. To tell each person how grateful I had been that they were there, for the words they spoke, the things they said, the things they did, which changed me, shaped me, helped me, hurt me, and otherwise made me who I am today. And some of it was.....surprising.

I think I'd do it like this. I'd go to my favorite spot on my favorite beach by myself, sit in the sun in a little bikini (bugger the sunscreen since it wouldn't be like I need to worry about skin cancer), take a notebook and one of those felt-tip Schwans I like, my little mp3 player (I even know the songs that would be loaded into it), and just drift for a while. And I'd put pen to paper, just to remember what I needed to say. And maybe every now and then I'd run into the ocean for a quick dip when I needed to clear my head, swim out until my feet don't brush the bottom and let the waves take me for a spell. At the end of the day I'd go back, take a bath with that glorious stuff that smells like cinnamon and vanilla, have dinner, then I'd sit at my desk, and start to write my goodbyes.

I think I'd like to be cremated, then have my ashes scattered to the wind. I know the Chinese like to put the ashes in an urn and then stick them in some little hole in a concrete wall, but that's not for me. There are so many places I haven't seen, and somehow I don't think death would stop me from seeing them. I doubt St. Peter would mind if I took a little detour before finally making my way to the Pearly Gates.

Your own imagined death puts things in perspective sometimes.

I feel better. More at peace.


(A caveat: this isn't meant to say I'm going to die anytime soon, God willing. They still don't know what I have, but I'm certainly not going to conk off because of this. So don't freak out and start calling me.)