Ever since I heard my father choke out "She's gone," through the phone, I've been afraid of missing out on life. Or at least afraid of missing out on the celebratory, the exciting, the fun parts of life.
I'm suddenly afraid to the degree of a mid-life crisis, the knotted urge to buy that more expensive dish at a more expensive restaurant, to bike that distance even when my thighs are sore from yesterday, to go to that party that, just thinking about it, gives me faint anxiety. Sometimes this mental propulsion is helpful, and other times it just feels like fighting against being engulfed in fear. Racing from the cloud of what ifs into a different mindset, one more pleasurable and less tied to stagnancy.
I don't want to miss out on anything else, because missing out on a mother is already too much missing for me.
Because what if I lived my life thinking, "But what if she's gone tomorrow?" Would I have said 'I love you' out loud more often? Would I have hugged her unprovoked and unabashed?
I'm jumping into decisions like I'm jumping into chlorinated pools: Staring at it. Daring it to scare me. Accepting the sneer of a challenge that no one else heard but me.
I write this because recently, just today, I bought concert tickets for tomorrow. A new friend said she would go with me, so we bought the cheapest available (56 dollars — more than I usually spend) for a concert (in Chicago — further than I would like to drive on a Friday night), and we were happy. We made last minute plans! "Treat yourself!" and all that.
And then we felt remorse for spending money. But I told her we could push past, because we were going to have fun and the type of fun that doesn't happen every day. Concert fun.
A few hours later and our coworker tells us his dog-sitter suddenly cancelled on him and his wife, so he can't attend the concert and he offers his tickets to us (floor seats) for free.
My friend wanted to wait until tomorrow to buy tickets, and I said,
"But what if they're gone tomorrow?"
But if my mom wanted to visit or talk and I said I was too busy, I never asked myself, "But what if she's gone tomorrow?"
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