Did you ever stop to consider how many days you actually have with those you care about? Maggie and I met on June 14, 1999. She died May 4, 2009. 3,612 days. That’s not very many, really. Way too few, in my humble opinion but hey, fate didn’t ask me. Neither did The Cancer. But it sure makes it clear to me how precious each day really is. Even if she was to have lived until she was 80 we’d have had a measly 22,000 days together. Not many, really. Suddenly, any reason I had for not spending every momment with Maggie is measured against a much higher standard.
Still, with honest reflection, the choices I made back then stand true, even today. They have to. I have to be careful, very careful, not to paint an unfair, even romantically tragic, picture of our struggles such that I question or doubt what actions I took. (Sounds so simple, doesn’t it?) Trusting that, back then, I made the best decision for the circumstance is essential. The confidence borne out of the belief in myself to make the best decision in the moment gives me the strength to now stand in faith and believe that yes, every moment I chose not to be with her was the right thing to do at the time (even though I can recall times when it seems I could have chosen otherwise – I trust it was the right thing to do even though I can’t quite nail it all down now.) And to pick ruthlessly at any historical minutia is nothing but self-inflicted torture.
3,612 days, 850 of which we spent dealing with The Cancer. That’s nearly one fourth of our time together. It seems like it went by so quickly now. It’s hard not to pick at the minutia.