In October of 2003, my stepfather was diagnosed with lung cancer. He died 37 days later.
The timeframe of 37 days made an impression on me. We act as if we have all the time in the world – that’s not a new understanding. But the definite-ness of 37 days struck me. So short a time, as if all the regrets of a life would barely have time to register before time was up.
And so, as always when awful things happen, I tried to figure out how to reconcile in my mind the fact that it was happening and the fact that the only thing I could do was try to make some good out of it. What emerged was a renewed commitment to ask myself this question every morning: ‘what would I be doing today if I only had 37 days to live?’
It’s a hard question some days.