deathIf you knew for certain that your heart would stop and you would die—with absolutely no hope of reprieve—in twenty-four hours, what would you do?
If I knew I’d die in twenty-four hours I would—if I could—apologize to everyone I’ve wronged in my life. When I told my friend this topic, he said the words that first popped into his head were “I’m sorry.” I too regret all the harm and hurt and pain—intentional and unintentional—I’ve caused others. For all of that I am—every day—sincerely sorry.
I would forgive—and I do forgive—everyone who has ever wronged me. I want to begin and end each day free of resentment, and I want to end my life that way.
I’d be—and I am—thankful. Generous people have given me many opportunities in my life and many second chances I didn’t deserve. For this I feel deep appreciation and gratitude and—for my family and my many friends—I feel love, love, love, love, love, love. Sound too mooshy? I don’t care!
In this spirit I’d sit zazen—but just my normal forty minutes.
I’d do my usual chores—feed the cats, wash the dishes, do the laundry, update our checking, shop for this week’s groceries, and shovel the walk or mow the lawn.
I’d call my mother just to check and see if she needed anything. Totally deaf since age fifteen, she’s 89 and still lives alone in her own home—such a sweetheart—and I love her dearly!
Then I’d ask Denise to see if there was anything she needed or wanted me to do for her and—if so—then I’d do that.
Daily duties done, I might sip a cup of coffee and glance at the morning paper while our two little birds chirp and warble and fly around the room. If I could guarantee that my death wouldn’t alarm any innocent passersby nor impose upon them any obligation, maybe I’d take an aimless, long, and leisurely walk—a stroll—and marvel one more time at the myriad miracle of the earth and stop and stand and stare up in silent joy and awe at the impossibly beautiful sky.
If I knew I’d die in twenty-four hours I would—if I could—apologize to everyone I’ve wronged in my life. When I told my friend this topic, he said the words that first popped into his head were “I’m sorry.” I too regret all the harm and hurt and pain—intentional and unintentional—I’ve caused others. For all of that I am—every day—sincerely sorry.
I would forgive—and I do forgive—everyone who has ever wronged me. I want to begin and end each day free of resentment, and I want to end my life that way.
I’d be—and I am—thankful. Generous people have given me many opportunities in my life and many second chances I didn’t deserve. For this I feel deep appreciation and gratitude and—for my family and my many friends—I feel love, love, love, love, love, love. Sound too mooshy? I don’t care!
In this spirit I’d sit zazen—but just my normal forty minutes.
I’d do my usual chores—feed the cats, wash the dishes, do the laundry, update our checking, shop for this week’s groceries, and shovel the walk or mow the lawn.
I’d call my mother just to check and see if she needed anything. Totally deaf since age fifteen, she’s 89 and still lives alone in her own home—such a sweetheart—and I love her dearly!
Then I’d ask Denise to see if there was anything she needed or wanted me to do for her and—if so—then I’d do that.
Daily duties done, I might sip a cup of coffee and glance at the morning paper while our two little birds chirp and warble and fly around the room. If I could guarantee that my death wouldn’t alarm any innocent passersby nor impose upon them any obligation, maybe I’d take an aimless, long, and leisurely walk—a stroll—and marvel one more time at the myriad miracle of the earth and stop and stand and stare up in silent joy and awe at the impossibly beautiful sky.
