Done in by the heat of setting up for the parish’s Cinqo de Mayo dinner, we sank gratefully into folding chairs. We talked about work — at 64, she figured she’d work “three more years. No, maybe five.” Then she laughed. “I like my job.” On the following Thursday, she showed up for the year-end banquet of the altar society (the same altar society she’d confessed to me she’d avoided joining for years because she felt she “wasn’t old enough!”), posing in a photo with all the other ladies. On Sunday, Mother’s Day, she was dead.
I tell this story not to cause panic, but to induce thought. None of us knows the day or hour of our death. So live big. Love hard. Don’t let things ride. Deal with your inner demons. Choose joy. Phone a friend.
We haven’t got time to dilly-dally, so let’s concentrate on loving one another. Okay?
3 comments
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May 17, 2018 at 7:15 pm
rhcwilliams
Okay!
This is a call to arms of the love variety. Count me in, dear heart.
May 18, 2018 at 6:05 pm
calensariel
Lovely and important message, Lori. We just never know, do we…
May 20, 2018 at 9:18 am
CareSA
Being a procrastinator of sorts, this is good advice.