Live Like You’re Dying
While in the hospital I met an elderly woman, a fellow patient who had undergone surgery the same morning I did, named Carol. One morning, as I was walking the halls of 6 Main with Jen, we stopped to talk with Carol. She told us she was seventy-one and had surgery for a tumor. When Jen asked her how the surgery went, Carol’s face clouded and she replied, “They couldn’t get it out.” She was terminal. Her only hope is a new treatment they’re trying at a hospital in Boston.
But in talking with Carol, we could both tell her only real hope is that she’ll be able to hold her only granddaughter, due in May.
Then Carol asked us about us and I actually felt guilty telling her my tumor had been removed.
I don’t know what Carol was going through. I tried to put myself in her shoes, to go through a surgery like I did only to be told the tumor remained and was inoperable after all. I tried to imagine how I would feel. How I would deal with such news. Would I just give up? Throw in the towel and succumb to death’s immenint arrival? I hope not. I hope I would live each day to its fullest, experience life for all its worth. I hope I would love to the fullest, laugh my hardest, throw off all worries and mundane cares and really live. I hope I would take every chance to tell others about the change Jesus made in my life and the hope I have after this life. I hope I would touch the lives of others in a positive, memorable way; leave fingerprints where they won’t soon rub off.
But you know what? Why would it take being told I have terminal cancer to make me live like that? No one knows what today or tomorrow brings; no one knows when their appointment with death will come due. Shouldn’t I live every day like my days are numbered?