While talking about New Year’s Resolutions with the preschool mothers after my lesson on Tuesday, I turned to one friend and quietly asked her what her resolutions were, while the other two talked on a tangent. She somberly asked me “do you really want to know? Because it’s sad.”
“I want every day to live so that if I die today when I see Heavenly Father he’ll let me into heaven.” I spend so much time thinking about what a medical miracle she is, being so strong for so long even without dialisys as she waits for a kidney that I forget how close to death she really is.
As she apologized for telling me I thanked her. It really is a resolution we should all be trying to keep. And I’ve been wondering since then how to express what I feel, how to preserve this memory.
I don’t feel that my words have caught up with the rest of me, this conversation happening on the heels of hearing that some friends from Virginia had just lost their healthy 20-month old in the middle of the night. This morning, however, I learned that my first boss, a good friend, and someone for whom I have very happy memories, finally lost his battle with cancer. So whether or not I’m ready to write about any of this, I feel so compelled to write something, for Bennett, for Maria, for Robbie.
Make today count. And make tomorrow count. And the day after that. And the day after that. Sometimes we have warning, and sometimes we don’t.