Time

So, long day at work, woeful about working when my kids are home on their last day of summer, angst-filled about this week containing back-to-school and back-to-dentist-for-me, tired after a busy weekend, kids jittery and spazzed about school, everybody talking just a little too loud… just a jarring evening.  And I finally sit down to check my email, and I have this waiting from my mother:

Hi Kate,

I had to share a diagnosis and its short-term prognosis (2- 6 weeks) with a client I took for a CT scan yesterday and her family today. The client (my ECT lady) is unable to understand anything except that she doesn’t feel well. The sister who lives locally cried then went to meet her friends for lunch and the other sister who lives in Texas doesn’t know if she should cancel her travel plans for a month vacation in Hawaii. It’s not my place to judge their actions. They each need to do what they feel is right for themselves. I’m curious. What, if anything, would you do if you were told you had a month left to live?

Love,
Mom

Heavy stuff.

As quickly as I could, because I didn’t want it to be rehearsed or overthought, I replied:

Hmm.

A month left to live.

Well, I start writing letters and lists for the kids and Willem – all the little things I want them to know about but don’t want to have the talk about just yet.

Telling Emily that she doesn’t have to dress provocatively to get boys’ attention and that the girls who are seen as the smart ones get an easier time from the professors than the girls who seem lazy or party-obsessed. Reminding her that being a good listener is even more important than being smart. Asking her to smile at strangers, without telling them her life story. Telling her, over and over, how much I love her.

Telling Jacob to always hold the door open for his dates and that it’s always OK to just watch for a while instead of always diving in head-first. Assuring him that everything matches with blue jeans, and that taking care of your clothes and looking like you didn’t sleep in your hamper and just crawl out in whatever fell on your body shows people that you care about yourself. Hoping that he’ll be as sweet and involved with his kids as his dad is with him. Telling him, over and over, how much I love him.

Reminding Willem to keep bringing home flowers on random days just-because and to get everyone in counseling post-haste and long-term. Assuring him that our marriage is one of the smartest things I ever did. Begging him not to let his mother get too involved with the kids just because I’m out of the way. And telling him, over and over, how much I love him.

Other letters will get written, too – my right hand will be twice as big as my left hand by the end of the month – to my family members and closest friends.

Then I quit work, taking a moment to politely inform everyone of their precise impacts upon me – positive and negative.

And if we’re still living in this house, then I go rent a beach house on the Cape or Martha’s Vineyard, in a credit card under my name only, to spend as much time as possible just being with friends and family in a leisurely, comfortable, beautiful setting. The house will be big enough to let people stay in a guest room or crash on the couch if they want, and keep it all very open and as relaxed as possible. If we’ve moved by then, I hope that my next house is big enough and beachy enough that I won’t need to rent a beach house.

I don’t have regrets. I’ve seen some amazing places and done some fantastic things, and of course there’s always more I want to do. But I have no nagging wishes or lingering doubts about my life.

I’ll still be batshit pissed, though, getting cheated out of the rest of my life. Not seeing my babies become big kids, and not seeing my big kids become gawky teenagers and then, someday, reasonably functional adults? Totally unfair. I’ll cry a lot, because I’ll have earned it.

But I won’t pack my days full of last-minute activities and trips and events. I don’t need that.

Your turn.

Love you,
Kate

So, yeah. Intense.

What’s on your list?