A dear friend of mine was diagnosed with terminal cancer. She smoked for thirty years then quit this fall, on her birthday. Two months later, after a great deal of pain in her gut, she went to the hospital, demanding answers. She got hers.
Nine months to live.
What would you do with nine months?
Every day I go to work and cook for special guests, I ask myself, if I was given that diagnosis, what would I do.
I sure wouldn't be cooking a line.
I'd go hiking.
And visit family.
And dance every night I could.
Maybe there is reincarnation. Great minds believe its not over when this body gives up.
I don't know. Some hope they don't have to deal with all this again. Maybe we'll get to be wild animals or a tree.
Nine months is nothing.
It is enough time to hike a long trail. In the end, they say, its not the things that we did that we'll regret, its the things we didn't do.