Seventy Two Hours To Live

Someone told me at a party recently that a previous boss of mine has cancer.  Although we struggled at times and did not leave on the best of terms, I was saddened by the news.  The information got me to thinking what I would do if I had 72 hours to live.  My first inclination was to pull out the calculator and multiply sixty minutes times 72 hours.  The result:  4320 minutes of life left.  Sighing, I took a deep breath and squeezed a smile out of that last second.  There was so much to get done.  It would be best, I figured, to forgo sleep. The challenge was to stretch time by simply being in the moment.

My first action would be to call my husband.  He is my main “go to” guy in any crisis. He is calm, assured and compassionate.  If self control was one of my virtues, I would have the patience to drive straight to his office and tell him in person.  It would be so much better if he held me in his arms.   Unfortunately, the news can’t wait. Too many seconds have burned already while I was deciding my best course of action. The scene plays out as I dial his number.  A massive lump builds squarely in the center of my chest.  Tears well in my eyes and slowly roll down my cheeks, blurring my vision. My voice cracks as the words tumble out of my mouth.   He doesn’t say anything yet I can hear his tears sprinkle the desk.

My next task is to call each of my four kids and tell them to come home.  Each conversation gets easier and the reality of the news is setting in to my bones.  The news seems less frightening now. 

Next would be to create a series of lists.  The first list is all of the people I want to write personal letters to before I die.  That includes my husband, my sons and daughter, my eight siblings.  Next I would write my Aunt Lorraine as well as the seven first cousins and a few others.  My second list is all the people in my life that matter the most to me and who I would want to gather together in a hastily scheduled soiree for my last day on earth. And finally down to the business matters that must be addressed before I go.  Things like consulting an attorney, reviewing the wills, checking beneficiaries, and confirming the life insurance is paid up. 

With the heavy lifting done,  I make myself a martini straight up, dirty, with olives.  In a moment of quiet, I reflect on my life and realize it has been rich in so many ways.  There is peace infused in this revelation.  On the up side of the equation, my parents and I will be reunited.  I have asked them to greet me on my journey to the other side.