Two years ago I was going through a tough patch, as I had recently separated from my husband and my health and financial situation were both a bit grim.
I spent a fair amount of time on the phone talking to my mother Evalynn and I’m awfully glad I did, as she passed away unexpectedly that June. During what would be one of our last conversations, my mother asked me what I did for fun. ‘Everything’ I said. ‘Everything I do is for fun’.
And I really meant it.
Approximately 2975 days have passed since I was told that I had three to five months left to live. Each and every one of these days has been a glorious bonus; an unexpected gift; an amazing treasure.
Recently I heard about someone who had ‘made the best’ of a similar situation where they’d received an extended reprieve from death. This individual was traveling the globe. Sounds like fun.
However, bucket lists are not an option for me–out of reach financially but also not what I really desire so much as to go on with life.
And so I have. Living each day as if it weren’t my last. Yet doing so with utmost awareness of how unexpected but also special each and every moment is.
I choose to love life unconditionally and so without judgement. It’s all good. And 99% of it–also fun. Simple stuff like waking up in the morning. Having that first cup of coffee. And then the second. Texting my kids. Hanging out with friends. Going to a thrift store. Smiling at a baby. Striking up a conversation with a stranger. Taking long walks.
But also paying bills, sitting in a waiting room, getting blood drawn. Doing laundry, languishing in traffic, buying groceries. Watering the garden, scrubbing the tub, unloading the dishwasher. All fun fun fun. Because each and every one of these tasks is a privilege I never thought I’d have.
Sometimes it is incredibly poignant and I am reminded of certain moments from childhood: playing outside as dusk approached but knowing that a grownup would soon call us all indoors. The slight anxiety and anticipation would lend a tingling excitement and new intensity to our games. Perhaps we ran a little faster; shouted with a little more bravado, became a bit bolder than before.
That which is fading is often held all the more dear. And I am hanging onto dear life with all the joy I can muster.