“Somebody should tell us, right at the start of our lives, that we are dying. Then we might live life to the limit, every minute of every day. Do it! I say. Whatever you want to do, do it now! There are only so many tomorrows.”
― Michael Landon
I don’t know if I’ve ever actually “lived a day like it was my last,” as the poets-and-advertisers-that-be might encourage us to. I don’t even know what that would feel like. But I do know what it feels like with Vernon. I don’t spend every single day with him, and when I do, it’s only two or three hours at a time. But lately, I’ve started approaching my time with him differently. I try to be careful not to treat it like the chore it felt like when he was most consistently difficult. He can still be difficult, but its never the WHOLE time. As I park my car on the mornings I see him, I tell myself: “You get one more day with your husband. This is a gift! This is borrowed time—be grateful. Enjoy what you can and help him enjoy it too.”
Sometimes he is sleepy, sometimes he is angry and impatient, swearing loudly and being mean (he says he’s figured out that’s “the best way to get rid of people” when he’s annoyed), and sometimes he is lovely and receptive and inexplicably wise. I never know what I’ll get, so its hard to make plans. But at least I can make them. He doesn’t even have that capability.
Thinking this way, like it might be his last—that this day is another chance to connect somehow, a chance we might not get again—has been boosting my attitude, which tends to change in all sorts of ways depending on the mood Vernon is in when he’s with me. Above all, he’s unpredictable.
Here is a little span of thoughts on the matter, that I jotted down before I went to see him this morning:
If this were the last day of your life (and I knew it)
How would I spend it with you?
What would you ask?
Any unfinished business?
What secret story would you tell?
Which friend would you call?
If this day was all you had left,
and all I had left of you…
Would I treat you any different?
I’ve long forgiven your dishes rising at the side of the sink
I know you’ve forgiven mine.
In fact, I’ve forgotten what fighting even felt like.
Will one of us look back and say:
That was our last March?
Our last spring?
That last year?
I sat next to you yesterday, wondering the same things.
And I realized there is nothing left to say
that hasn’t already been said…
or feared…
or dealt with.
If you are at peace,
then I am at peace.
If you want to talk,
I’m up for it too.
If you want to listen, I hope what I say
touches your heart…
Because you keep expanding mine.
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I’ve been thinking similar thoughts as I’m trying to savor my last months in this city that I love. The daily accounting and consciousness and intentional remembering have changed my perspective. And I’m making a mental note not to stop when we get to our next destination.
You put it all so beautifully. Love you Ali!
That was beautiful and inspiring, Allison.
HI Kellie. Thanks! Hey, can I sign you up as my choice for our First Grade Teacher? Really!
my heart aches for you as you leave Chicago after all these years. I wish I could have visited more…but I have fond long term memories and thoughts of you there! Its going to be the next stage of a great adventure. There is always so much MORE, isn’t there? Love you, old friend.
Weepy….thank you for sharing your journal with us. I’m so grateful for the time I have spent with you, Vernon, Maki and Justine. You have each blessed me by connecting with you, laughing with you, walking with you, singing, dancing, painting and crying with you. If this were my last day. I just wanted to thank you. I love the Adams family, Kirsten
Aw Kirsten! Thank you too! 🙂
Incredible. Wow.I just read this aloud to Chris. He said Amazing. I said Incredible. We both love you. You are wise, and we have learned so much from knowing you, Vernon and the kids.
LOVE YOU TOO, SUSAN! I know things will soon get better with Hudson. I don’t really KNOW…but I strongly think they will. And he’s going to come out of this better than when he went in! (and he went in really great!)
Allison this is beautiful. You touch my heart. Your willingness to be vulnerable and share from your heart inspires me to live intentionally. Thank you.
Beautifully written Allison ..if Vern hadn`t met you, we would not have you and Justine in our lives, all the happy memories we have shared .. the laughs, the heart to hearts ..the hugs ..the tears ( when saying goodbye)..and most of all LOVE ..WHAT I WOULD SAY TO YOU AND VERN … I LOVE YOU SO VERY MUCH XX ..and thank you for all those happy memories, in Bournemouth ,Poole, Reading , Winchester and ofcause California
xx love to you all xx
And we love you too! xoxox
Allison,
Very well written by a woman who has become more wise than usual. We loved your Grandparents and how they brought their children up. And to watch you is a testimony to their raising of your Dad and the others.
Have a good Easter.
Becky
Deep, thoughtful, tender, courageous, heartfelt, inspiring are just some of the words that come to mind when reading this post. Is there no other way to stir the soul so deeply but through the struggles and challenges of life?
As always, thank you…
Yes….just the description that has come to my mind lately….what if this were the last day of my life? (The question comes more often at 80 and 81 years of age…..why didn’t I think this way when I was your age?) You express your thoughts with such beautiful words….I agree with Becky…how we loved your grandparents and the kind of parents they were. They influenced our parenting. I can just imagine them being so blessed by such a precious granddaughter.