I always wondered how I would react to a terminal illness, to the knowing that my ays were numbered, and that they were gong to get nasty before it all ended.
I wondered if I would be like a rat in a fatal maze, running desperately for an exit, clawing at the walls.
Now I know. Thanks to cancer's gut-punch, now I know.
And I'm OK. I'm not running around like Chicken Little.
The sky's not falling, because I have today.
As things got horrible, my view pulled back from both the future and the past. I don't really have a future, except for the ordinary cycle of days. There are no 'big ideas' that will come to fruition, not now.
And the past is, well, past. I screwed up a lot. But I can't fix that; I can't redeem myself in my eyes, or in the eyes of others.
There is an unexpected grace in this, a liberation from both ambition and regret.
The tomorrows for which I planned, and which I will not see, I hand over to God; perhaps He will make them right, and they will be awaiting me in Heaven.
The yesterdays I would have mourned are likewise given over, and He will hold them as far as the East is from the West.
An I have today, with pain and nausea and incontinence, but it's my today.
So I think I'll watch Dwayne Johnson in Skyscraper, one of the best all-time family action films.
It's a good day.
Music from The Traveling Wilburys, with The End Of The Line.
Thanks to Carol Ashby, Blessed Are The Pure Of Heart is back on Kindle, and will be available in paperback soon.
Friends are everything. I couldn't have done it.