Live Like You Were Dying

Frogboy asked me the other day what I would do if I only had a month to live. I immediately asked him, "Well, what condition am I in?" Frankly, that's going to make a big difference in how I answer the question.

If I'm confined to bed and unable to communicate, I think it's pretty obvious. I'm just gonna lay there, no matter how long I have.

And if I'm kinda sickly and I can't get out and do the fun stuff, then I guess I would spend a great deal of time gathering the people I love around me and talking about good times and telling them I love them. I can talk faster depending on how bad I feel.

Door number 3 is obviously the door of choice. This would be where I'm amazingly healthy up until the moment I stop breathing. Behind this door I would like to think I would do all sorts of fun things and make all sorts of incredible memories for my loved ones. Things I would remember for the rest of my very short life. (Although, let's be honest, if I'm dying in a month, even a good solid poop will land on that list.)

But then I think again. Do I want my kids to come to the end of my life and say, "Hey, remember how awesome mom was the month before she died?" Or do I want them to remember my entire life, hopefully in the same "awesome mom" vein?

The night before my aunt slipped into a coma she never came out of, she told my uncle, "If I die tonight, I will die a happy woman." It's been a little over a year, and we haven't come anywhere close to exhausting the "awesome mom" stories from her life. I want to live my life like she did. No matter how long I have. No matter what I have happen. I want to live a life of love.