A dear friend hugs me and says, "I want to go first so you can do my funeral."
"Wait a minute!" I'm the one with 3 active Cancers and, it's difficult to believe anybody's going before I do!
She's has her challenges too: infections led to Urgent Care, then to the ER, until hospitalized overnight in a hallway.
Boy can we relate!
"I mean, we're all dying all of the time anyway," Sarah says, "it's just some of us are in the fast lane."
It's hard to argue with my wife.
That night I wake to vertigo, chills, followed by sweats, nausea, bowel issues and lack of sleep. This takes place in the Living Room and hallway bathroom, so everyone else can sleep while I do. Somehow while this is happening, I manage to smoke Weed, which calms it all down while making things move quicker. A few hours later I can eat and everything's better.
Finally, just as I settle on the sofa with coffee, Che wakes and we fall into a routine of play, breakfast and getting ready for school.
"Is it 7:30 yet, she begins asking, because she's ready to see her Mom. The time hit, Che makes a wild dash to "see if Mom's awake" by diving on top of her."
I live for these moments.
Later Sarah's working and Che's at school so I hop online and am immediately overwhelmed with requests.
Family, friends and strangers asks if I'm available to talk, meet, speak, write, preach and even do funeral services.
One the one hand, what an honor!
On the other hand, I'm working real hard to maintain my distance from death or disrupting a way of living that's KEEPING ME ALIVE.
Besides, the last time I tried, I passed out teaching a College Zoom class "On Death and Dying" and Sarah, who happened to be monitoring, pushed me out of the chair to continue the lecture without missing a beat.
The students gave her rave reviews!
The last message is from a childhood friend, "Just wanted to let you know that you’re amazing. It must be so difficult worrying about future things while struggling with current issues. And yet, with Sarah and Che, you make it through each day ..."
It's true we take everything one day at a time. It's hard to make plans living in the valley of the shadow of death but Sarah doesn't care, making them anyway.
I tell her these things over dinner and we talk and, in no time, find ourselves laughing.
"I'm going record a video of you conducting a specialized, limited edition number of funeral services," Sarah says grinning, "for anyone to download for a modest $400 fee."
I howl, bending over in laughter, laying my head on the table and pounding my fist on top.
Sarah and I laugh as much as possible, which far more difficult than it sounds, but it really is the best medicine.
Unless you have diabetes then insulin is the best medicine.
That's funny.
After dinner, Che dances into the room, resulting in even Lainey stopping to watch, as Che sings, "Staying Alive" to the top of her lungs.
Sarah and I laugh at the irony.
"Alexa," I gleefully call, "play Staying Alive" and Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band play it if their lives depended on it, as Che dances, and we hold hands, watching.
