It may sound strange (even disturbing) that I think about death a lot, but I assure you my apparent obsession is benign. It is due to my realization of how brief life is. In a little more than a year, I’ll cross the mid-century mark. I have to ask myself how much I’ve really lived of those fifty years. And how much more should I live now, if I want to make good and honest use of the time I have left?
Have I said all the things I’ve wanted to, to the people I love? If I died tomorrow, would they know the depths of my affection for them? Would they understand my sincere desire for their prosperity and happiness? Would they know how much I want their lives to be filled with joy and love and contentment, and fulfillment, and meaning?
Would they know how grateful I am for their presence in my life, and for all they taught me? Would they understand how their words, their acceptance, and their strength helped me not only survive but thrive? Will they know how much that meant to me?
Will they know that I leave this world happy: joyful for the privilege of living among such good people? Will they see the peace and freedom I pray is theirs… the joy and unburdening of living in the moment? Will they discover the marvelous synchronicity of the universe, as I did, and see that when we stop pushing for the things we think we want, it always gives us what we need?
The universe knew I needed some extraordinary people in my life. Patient people. Tenacious people. Forgiving people. So, before I leave this game called life, I best make sure they all know who they are.