Live. Today.
I hope you’ll bear with me today. I’m in a fairly somber mood. But thankful.
Saturday—day before yesterday—we got a call that our next-door neighbor had died that day.
Our sixteen year old neighbor.
He wasn’t some thug out driving drunk or getting high. He was a quiet kid, a smart kid, who played sax and bass guitar, got along with his sisters, went to church, liked to play chess. Last summer we carpooled to drivers’ ed, his family and ours. When I was driving Ian and him home, I’d ask Cole questions, and he would have an actual conversation with me. Which is a rarity in sixteen year olds, but I appreciated it even more, given how quiet Cole was.
Two weeks ago, Cole was running in a track meet. A week ago, he thought he had stomach flu; everyone else in his family had had it recently. Thursday or Friday it became clear that he was very sick. Tests were run. Lymphoma, they said. More tests were scheduled.
Saturday, while in the recovery room, he died.
I feel guilty saying I’m thankful. Thankful that my kids are still here today, yes. But also thankful for the reminder to not take today for granted.
Surfing the web this evening, I “happened” across the following. It’s taken from a commencement speech that Steve Jobs gave somewhere, about a year ago, I think. It crystilizes the state of mind we’ve been in since Saturday.
When I was 17, I read a quote that went something like: “If you live each day as if it was your last, someday you’ll most certainly be right.” It made an impression on me, and since then, for the past 33 years, I have looked in the mirror every morning and asked myself: “If today were the last day of my life, would I want to do what I am about to do today?” And whenever the answer has been “No” for too many days in a row, I know I need to change something.
Remembering that I’ll be dead soon is the most important tool I’ve ever encountered to help me make the big choices in life. Because almost everything—all external expectations, all pride, all fear of embarrassment or failure—these things just fall away in the face of death, leaving only what is truly important.
...No one wants to die. Even people who want to go to heaven don’t want to die to get there. And yet death is the destination we all share. No one has ever escaped it. And that is as it should be, because Death is very likely the single best invention of Life. It is Life’s change agent.
From there he goes on to say that the most important thing is to follow your heart and intuition. Which sounds nice, but—sorry, Steve—it’s way off.
The most important thing is to love. Love the people that God has put here with you, and do it now. Hug the teen that doesn’t want to be hugged. Call the friend you haven’t seen in forever. Tell your spouse or your parents or whoever needs to hear it what you appreciate and admire about them.
And just spend time with them. Because this may be that day.
Live like it.
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