One Year Left to Live

Don’t worry! I’m fine. Well, as fine as a moderately active, sweets addict at seventy-one can be. The title refers to a book I am reading, “No Cure for Being Human” by Kate Bowler. It’s a memoir of Kate who learns at age thirty-five that she has stage four, metastasized, liver cancer and about a year to live. I just finished the chapter entitled Bucket List. She writes that all of her counselors are urging her to do things she’s never done, to learn new skills that she’s never mastered, or visit places she always wanted to see. Kate was not sure about any of those. Her thought process had an effect on me. What would be on my bucket list if I only had one more trip around the sun?

I know I wouldn’t spend time finally learning to play the guitar. I wouldn’t wander around the walls of Machu Pichu. That climb has now passed me by. I wouldn’t zipline though the Amazon Rainforest, nor run with the bulls in Pamplona. No, my list would be much simpler. I would try to replicate, as much as possible, my life to this point.

I’d spend time in Slatington, in the area of Second and Main. My junior high once stood here. My elementary school right behind it. It’s now a little park. I’d sit on a bench and remember all the fun I had and the kids and teachers that I met. Later I’d ask to visit the Northern Lehigh Middle School. That was my high school, Slatington High School. Here I learned and matured and made memories that still warm me on lonely nights. Next, drive by the Slatington houses I lived in. Six!

I would do a little travel, but not to somewhere new. I once had a corporate HR job where I traveled a lot. I’d want to drive again through the Columbia River Gorge from Camas to Wallula, Washington. I’d want to drive, through birch forests, from Wisconsin Rapids to Park Falls, Wisconsin, listening to Wisconsin Public Radio. I’d want to drive to Dryden, Ontario from International Falls, Minnesota and hopefully again see a moose run across the highway in front of me. I’d want to once again drive through the rural south and see magnolia trees and churches on every corner.

I would, of course, spend lots of time with my family, sharing memories of the people that populated our lives, aunts and uncles and cousins long gone. We’d talk about all of the places we laughed and cried. The old cabin at Lake Wallenpaupack, Indian Trail Park family reunions, and fun at OCNJ. I would tell them all how much each one of them means to me and that I will miss them.

I have realized something important writing this blogpost. I have had a wonderful seventy-one years. Of course, I have had my share of sadness and pain. but without sadness, we wouldn’t appreciate happiness. I don’t need new experiences. I don’t need new skills. I don’t need anything really. It’s all good.

Again, I am seriously fine and looking forward to a few more decades. If I don’t get that, it’s okay. It’s been a hell of a ride, so far.