If I Had One Day to Live

If I had one day to live, I would call old friends and say goodbye. I would look at one last sunrise, one last sunset. I would eat a final meal, and a final chocolate. I would buy roses and give money away. I would hold each child’s hand one more time, look into their eyes and tell them they are my favorite.

If I had one week to live, I would write some poetry of my last thoughts as I watched old favorite shows one last time and held the hands of those I most cared about. I would think about God and an after-life and about people who had gone before me. I would write one last letter to the world to say goodbye to all of it.

If I had one month to live, I would finish up my memoir and talk to my agent about rights and maybe a legal document so that she could send it out and publish it even once I was gone. I’d stop exercising except for long walks with those I love most. I’d go out to eat for every meal, except one big family dinner with homemade rolls (mine) and chocolate cake for dessert.

If I had one year to live, I would fly out to talk to my agent and my editors about manuscripts I was leaving behinds. I would try to organize my things so that my kids didn’t have to, ask them what they wanted and what they didn’t. Throw the rest out so they didn’t feel bad about having to do it later. I’d do a last race, if I could. Probably Jordanelle, my very first race. I’d try to find someone my size I could pass my bike along to who might be able to use it. I’d make sure each kid had one copy of each book I’ve ever published, and I’d make a stack of my favorites of other author’s books to leave to each child.

If I had ten years to live, and maybe I do have only ten years to live, I would take up mountain climbing. I would go to Harvard Divinity School, not because I want to make sure I go to heaven and meet God there, but because it’s something I’ve always wanted to do and have never been able to find a good enough reason for. It is an utter indulgence. I would quit my job and spend all my money myself. Really, I wouldn’t leave an inheritance for my kids because they don’t seem to need that from me. I would write them each a letter for every birthday I could manage, every special occasion I would miss. I would make them quilts and afghans to store and give to their children, things from me they could feel in their fingertips, and would hug them in the cold winters when I was gone.

If I had twenty years to live, I would take up painting and take a ballroom dance class—ask if I could take the man’s part even though I’m short. I would try weight lifting competitions and take a trip to Antarctica, because no one I know has ever been there. I’d try to do a marathon on every continent, even if I had to walk every step. I’d run for office, maybe, because someone needs to do it and why not me?

What would you do if you had one day left to live?