06.18.09
If I Had My Life To Live Over
It’s Tuesday night and I’ve just come from my monthly dinner with Kay and our cousins. We spent three and a half hours in a Mexican restaurant that was finished with us before we were finished with them. I don’t know that the walls in that establishment have ever had laughter as hearty or consistent.
There are rumblings of a Carolina thunderstorm, and there are rumblings of other, more protracted storms, as well. Two friends from my hometown have learned that their breast cancer has returned with a vengeance. One friend, about my age, is terminal. While I have been planting spring flowers and hosing down lawn furniture, she has been making other, more permanent decisions about flowers and furniture.
Some would say she is fortunate, and, in a way, I guess that is true. She will be able to communicate sentiments and regulate the transfer of her possessions. Knowing her, she will leave no stone unturned. What she will not do is take care of her parents, have grandchildren, or grow old.
Someone recently sent an email blast with a quote from Erma Bombeck shortly after she was diagnosed with terminal cancer. Here is a portion of what she said:
“IF I HAD MY LIFE TO LIVE OVER….
I would have talked less and listened more.
I would have burned the pink candle sculpted like a rose before it melted in storage.
I would have invited friends over to dinner even if the carpet was stained or the sofa faded.
I would have eaten the popcorn in the ‘good’ living room and worried much less about the dirt when someone wanted to light a fire in the fireplace.
I would have taken the time to listen to my grandfather ramble about his youth.
I would never have insisted the car windows be rolled up on a summer day because my hair had just been teased and sprayed.
I would have sat on the lawn with my grass stains.
I would never have bought anything just because it was practical, wouldn’t show soil or was guaranteed to last a lifetime.
But mostly, given another shot at life, I would seize every minute, look at it and really see it…live it and never give it back.”
So, forgive me if I am a little pensive tonight. I am reconciling the loss of another little fraction of the world as I know it. It weighs on me, as it does everyone who knows her. But we will get through it. It is likely that we will share many more monthly dinners. It is probable that we will experience the rage of countless more summer thunderstorms. It is certain that we will see her again.
Blessings,
Janet
