This post is not exactly about cancer, it’s about death (sorry for the somber subject). It’s about my husband’s dad, who died suddenly of a pulmonary embolism 11 years ago on this very date (February 9). It was a Tuesday way back then, too. I remember that as clearly as I recall the early-morning phone call announcing his collapse, the drive to the hospital an hour away, the vision of him on a bed, not breathing, gone.
Maybe this post is kind of about cancer, because, sadly, people do die of cancer. But people die from all sorts of things (like pulmonary embolisms) every day. My aunt just told me that a co-worker and friend passed away the other day — she was 34, a single mom of a 15-year-old daughter, and she just didn’t feel well, then she died. It all makes me so aware of my own mortality. I mean, who says I won’t die far before I should? No one. We’re all fair game in the death department, I’m afraid, and that makes me think that we have a very critical mission before us: we must, must, must live each day as if it’s the last, because, well, it just might be.
I know, somber.
What will you do to celebrate the gift of today?