525,600 minutes

525,600 minutes, 525,000 moments so dear. 525,600 minutes – how do you measure, measure a year? In daylights, in sunsets, in midnights, in cups of coffee. In inches, in miles, in laughter, in strife. In 525,600 minutes – how do you measure a year in the life? How about love? How about love? How about love? Measure in love. Seasons of love.

Seasons of Love, from the Musical Rent.

As many of you know, my sister died of colon cancer at the ripe old age of 41. That’s one of the reasons why, when I came across the blog The Comfy Place, I was so moved. The author, Jeni, is dying of colon cancer. (Read how to help her here. There’s even an e-bay auction!) And, like me, she is a mother.

In one of her posts, she asks “What would you do if you had a year left to live?” She asks her readers to think about this question, and answer it on their own blogs. This question has haunted me. I’ve been thinking about it for days and I am not sure I have a good answer. I have a few thoughts, and I’ll share them now.

I tried to limit my thinking to what I thought we could do financially. I also am assuming that while I only have a year, it is a year of health. I don’t have pain. I don’t have any medical treatments or expensive medications. I’m just me, as I am now, with one year, and a little luck.

My first thought, of course, is with family. I want to spend as much time as possible with my family. I would ask my husband to take a one year leave of absence from his job. We would rent out our house, and rent a small lake cabin in north-western Minnesota. This would put me close enough to my parents and siblings that I could see them any time, but far enough away that no one would be popping in.

I would spend my days simply. I would try to enjoy every second with my toddler and husband, spending as much time as possible playing in the sand and water. We would buy food from the farmer’s market and eat simple, fresh meals. In strawberry season we would make meals of strawberries, cream and bread. In peach season we would eat peach pie for breakfast. I would take naps with my daughter in a hammock under a large tree by the lake. We would stay up late to watch sunsets, and rise early to watch sunrises. I would breathe in her smell so that I could carry it with me into eternity.

When the weather turned cold, we would bundle up and play in the leaves. When the snow came we would snow-shoe and build snow people and have snowball fights and make snow angles. We would spend our time indoors reading before a fire, baking cookies, and drinking hot chocolate.

We would not have a TV. We would not have a computer.

In the evening, after she had gone to bed, I would make videos for her. I would tell her all the things I would want her to know and make her father promise to play them for her when it was time. I would make one for each birthday, for her first day of school, her first crush, her first heartbreak, for her graduation, her first day of college, her wedding day. I would tell her about the day she was born and how she brought so much happiness into our lives, and I would tell her how I loved her over, and over, and over, and over.

I don’t know if I would wean her or not. I’m not sure if it would be better to let her have as much of me as possible until I wasn’t there any long, or if it would be better for her to tapper off so she wouldn’t lose both her best comfort measure and her mother on the same day.

I would demand that Monday thru Thursday was just for the three of us – no phone calls, no visitors. On the weekends we would see extended family and friends. We would take trips to the farm where I grew up (just a few hours away) and to the city where some of my dearest friends live. Friends and family who live more than a few hours drive from us would have to be the ones to travel. I am not spending my last year in a car!

I’d like to take one big trip with Norman and The Girl. I’d like to go back to Norway and see my family there, as well as show that beautiful country to Norman and The Girl. I hold a special place in my heart for Norway, and I would want to share it with them. I’d cash in my retirement account to pay for this trip.

In thinking about what I would do in this final year, I realized that I might be a little unethical. I’ve always thought of myself as quite an ethical person, but what I might do, it would be bad. I would consider getting the big “D” – but on paper only. I love and adore Norman and I want him with me every second; but I have a plan. If we got the big “D” (do you like how I cannot even write the word?) and then transferred all my assets to him so that my estate would have absolutely no money … and then if I started accepting every “you’re pre-approved” credit card … well … we could have a little fun.

Yes, I know that is horrible, but it is also horrible for the credit card companies to entice 18 year olds with credit cards, making them believe that for one little monthly payment they can live any kind of life they want.

With my credit cards, I would throw one big-ass party. It might last a weekend, I’m not sure. I would invite all my friends and family. For those who couldn’t afford to come, I’d be happy to put your ticket on one of my 45 visa cards. I would fly in all of those blog friends who have turned into real friends, like Patia, Birdie, Phil, Meg and so many others. I would beg others to come, people who I don’t know at all, but feel as if I do and wish so much that I did, like Jen, Rachel, Julie and Anita, and so, so many more.

We would talk and laugh late into the night. We would cry some too, I would guess. We would eat wonderful food made with cream and butter and rich, dark chocolate. We would have crusty, chewy, loaves of bread with a dry red wine. We would forget about pleasantries and have real conversations. We would talk about hopes and dreams and how we can best feed our soul, and each others. We would compact a lifetime of friendship into a weekend.

I would preplan my funeral and provide instructions on where to scatter my ashes.

I would leave extraordinarily large tips.

I would give my husband as much loven’ as he could handle.

I would eat a lot.

That’s all I have so far. The “year” is easier than thinking about the end – the last day. I don’t know what to do on that final day. I don’t know how I would explain it all to a toddler. I don’t know if she should be with me on that final moment, even thought I would want her there. I’d want my husband with me, but maybe he should be with my daughter? I don’t know. It is to much for me to think about, and it is not even real for me.

Now, two things: send a prayer, or a thought, or whatever you do, out to Jeni, and spend a few days thinking about this subject and write your own post.

And if you are still reading … thanks – I know this was a long one.