I could have been a professional worrier. I remember lying awake mentally tallying the hours that I would be away from Zoe for my counseling internship. As I fretted, the hours would line up, accuse me of bad parenting, and assure me that my daughter would be permanently scarred by the days I would be away from her. In fact, I think I worried over those hours a full year before I actually did my internship.
Somehow, living with Stage IV cancer, does not allow for what my mother would call “borrowed” worry. It demands living in the day, if one is to function at all. Suddenly, I measure my days by the date my water filter expires (I’m always pleasantly surprised to have to change it–I made it another three months, yay!), by when I need to fill my pill case (has it been a week already–yahoo!), or when it’s time for me to run out for espresso beans.
It reminds me of a poem that has been shared with us by several dear people in our lives. One friend, Melanie, even put it onto a gorgeous card for me. The poem hangs above our kitchen sink. (Isn’t that where all the good stuff goes?) It is:
Look to this day,
For it is life,
The very life of life.
In its brief course lie all
The realities and verities of existence,
The bliss of growth,
The splendor of action,
The glory of power–
For yesterday is but a dream,
And tomorrow is only a vision,
But today, well lived,
Makes every yesterday a dream of happiness
And every tomorrow a vision of hope.
Look well, therefore, to this day.
That’s about as far as I can look.
Well, maybe to my next latte, too.