Live Every Day Like It's Your Last

I woke up this morning. That alone is a blessing considering I was supposed to die yesterday. I'm supposed to die today too. Today, like every day I've been blessed with, I will live like it's my last day on Earth.

I'll start the day by meeting with my lawyer. We'll go over my last will and testament and he'll assure me that nothing has changed since we have done this exact thing everyday since I adopted this mantra two months ago. He'll also advise that I leave this task out of my daily routine as his hourly charges every morning are hacking away at my savings, savings that should go to my family. He'll also remind me kindly that he doesn't prefer to work on the weekends. I'll tell him that I love him and that he is a good man. I'll tell him that I trust he'll put my family in the best legal hands once I depart this world.

I'll call all my friends and distant family members to tell them I regret not keeping in touch but that I am grateful simply for knowing them. Each day, I remember a few people who should be on this list so the list grows every day. The task doesn't take long though since not many of my friends or family pick up the phone when I call. They must be busy. The ones who have not asked me to stop must be busy.

I'll grieve. It's important to acknowledge death, accept it, but also express sadness for the life I'll be leaving. I've converted my home office to a funeral parlor of sorts. The walls are decorated with crosses and scenes from the bible. Everyday, I lay down fresh flowers on the desk, shut the curtains and cry for a few hours. But it's a good cry. I actually feel quite hungry by the time I am finished.

I'll eat my last supper. T-bone steak with french fries and mashed potatoes. I haven't been feeling so great lately. I've been more tired and sluggish. I have less and less energy every day. I've put on weight. Each day that I live as my last feels more and more like it actually might be my last.

I'll crawl into bed with my wife and tell her that I love her and that she shouldn't be afraid to find somebody else who makes her happy. She usually replies with a monotone "ok" and stares at the ceiling, fighting back tears. Lately she's changed her response though. "I'm looking," or even "I've found somebody." I hope she does not mourn me. She truly deserves to be happy when I am gone.

I'll go to sleep. If I awake, I'll live that day like it's my last. If I do not wake up, then everyone will remember that I've lived a fulfilling life.