We All Have Cancer
I have cancer. My brother has cancer. We all have cancer...
We are all terminal--but for some of us, that reality looms more ominously
What would you do if you knew that this day would be your last?
I am not talking about some vague "within 3 months" window. I mean TO-DAY
- Would you start writing a book? The Great American Novel?
- Would you smoke pot for the first time, because, why not?
- Start a fight? Settle a score?
- Train for that marathon you've been wanting to run?
- Would you look at an old photo album and recall glory days gone by?
- Call up an old friend and renew old ties?
- Make some tea?
Hmmmm.....
- Would you review and catalog your memories in a desperate highlight reel?
- Would you gather and distribute your treasures in an attempt to be remembered?
- Would the tone of your last poem be wistful? Hopeful? Fearful? Resigned? All of the above?
- If you wouldn't start reading a new book or sit in a multiplex on your last day, why not?
- Would you rush to the office to finish up all those projects? Or maybe just one project?
Here's an idea: Grab a seat near the fountain at the Sunset Plaza Mall and just watch and listen as people scurry by, eventually slumping over and sliding into the water, the water...
- On second thought
- Noooo....
Such things as we know we would not do on our last day--why do we do them at all? Have we so many days to spare that we can afford to waste a few? How do we know this?
Let's grab a bottle of wine and a blanket, right now, and maybe a candle, and a couple of our finest glasses. We'll go to Gravelly Point and watch the planes take off and land, as they always do.
Until the sun sinks behind the horizon, as it always does.
And we shall have, for at least that brief moment, truly lived!
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