If I had one more day to live.featured

I’d spend it in my Grandmothers hammock. Suspended between giant old trees swaying gently in the heavy summer air. Reading through the distant sound of thunder until the raindrops start to fall.

Or at the top of her magnolia tree. Initials carved deep into the bark of branches so thick they cradle me as I lazily watch a writing spider etch gibberish into her web.

I’d feast on the sweet corn from the back garden and the oozing tomato pie from the kitchen one.

Curl up on my dad’s lap in our squeaky rocker as he reads about worlds far away that entrance me. Fall asleep as they fill my dreams.

Lay on my mom’s lap as she gently brushes my hair from my face. The scent of her lotion burrowing so deeply into my memory that even today the smell soothes me.

I’d grasp the wagon handle as my brothers push me around the patio at breakneck speed. Climb the garage to lay on the hot roof tiles reading side by side with my sister.

Read stories to my baby sisters. Rock them and cajole them with kisses before bossing them around.

Sit quietly at night in the middle seat sharing a buckle with a little sister. As the storms roll down the mountains, and we remain safe, dry, and warm. Together.

Watch our souls intwine into an inseparable whole through millions of moments and memories.

Stay up much too late dreaming with friends. An entire day of discussion too short for the plans we have for our lives and the world.

Devour books like when I was a kid. With nothing except my aching shoulders or a sibling’s turn to tear me away. Where I discover again and again that the world is new and thrilling and brimming with beauty and possibility.

Broker a deal with my almost-twin-brother to read Harry Potter together. Lean to the side and race toward the sentence he read that made him gasp and pause.

Stumble into the sweet boy in the hallway on my way to math help. Hear his gentle encouragement and admiration of how I approach the topic.

Play one more game of Scrabble with him. Thank him for boldly proclaiming my worth while hiding his crush to give me space to grow into myself. Hug him once more before it’s too late. Whisper that he’s the first boy I ever loved. As if he didn’t already know.

Race through fields and drive late into the night with friends who promise to remain family and do. For my entire life.

Fight back the tears and butterflies as my mom drives away from my dorm. Snuggle in the vintage chair she found me that magically relieves every ache and heartbreak that first tumultuous year.

Find my voice and my path. Again. Fall deeply in love with learning. Again. Forge new friendships in dreams and hard work and long conversations. Over coffee this time. The kind that again last my entire life.

Walk across the quad and see his smile for the first time. The one that lights up his eyes and leaves me breathless after 15 years. The one that I’ll keep forever.

Gather my courage, bolstered by his friends, to flirt with him one night years later. Rest my head on his shoulder as he puts his arm around mine and feel safe and whole, like I’m home for the first time.

Kiss him on the first date and never look back. Spend every waking moment talking and never run out of things to say.

Marry him. Walk toward his smile with no fear or doubt. Only joy. Vow to become inseparably one flesh no matter what life brings.

Watch his face the day our daughter is born and gasp in amazement at how perfectly her chin matches his. Just like our next baby. And our next. And our next.

Book flights to Rome on the spur of the moment and watch our life’s trajectory transform before our eyes. Eat gelato and wander late into the night holding hands. Stumble upon the Pantheon and St. Peter’s for the first time.

See my amazement mirrored in his eyes watching our first baby get kissed by the Pope. And our second. And third.

Spend the next year dreaming together as a new baby grows inside me. Learn to lean deeply into our vocations and build a life we’re proud to live.

Travel. All over the world. Walk the Great Wall, touch the pyramids, watch the Eiffel sparkle, swim in the Indian Ocean. Wander city after city. Through art galleries, cathedrals, piazzas, train stations, and cafes.

Navigate parenthood with babies attached and hands firmly grasped. Sneaking in wordless dates eating ice cream while the girls sleep deeply on our chests.

Always find our way back to Rome.

Choose to be fearless in our embrace of life and ecstatically welcome another baby. And another.

Laugh through the chaos. Steal whispered conversations and smiles as we wring wet clothes and hang them from chairs and lampshades. The kids still in their shoes from a day of wandering.

Revel in the fact that despite their uncanny resemblance to Jeff, my daughters’ freckles are all from me. Find constellations in the patterns and show them how to connect the dots. The sweetest Orion under a soft blue eye.

Read aloud. Favorite works from my childhood and exciting new worlds we explore together. Watch them snuggle into Jeff’s lap every night, eagerly anticipating his character voices.

Teach Molly to read. Watch her confidence explode and her world expand as she devours book after book and series after series. Delight in her love of reading watching a dream of my heart come to life.

Drive to the beach. Run down the sand. Feel the pounding waves at my feet and the rush of exhilaration in the wind. See in my daughter’s eyes that she understands.

Stand by the canyon as the sun sets and stars pour into the night sky above us. Breathe in, mesmerized by the deep silence and profound peace.

Remind myself that creation is delightful and my joy is a prayer.

Kneel in the church as candlelight flickers warmly on the walls and sparkles brightly in the stained glass. As incense pours from the altar. Every sense soothed and thrilled as I am invited yet again to participate in the story of my salvation. To welcome my savior into the humble, exuberant temple of my self.

Feel Jeff’s arms enfold me along every agonizing step of the diagnosis that threatens to rip me from him.

See in his eyes the strength and faith to live every moment of this vocation, this sacrament. Hear his voice when nothing else is audible. Praying my favorite prayer as he sits by my side.

Watch the world around us threaten to crash again and again. But between us, no fear. No doubt. Only joy.

Write. Even when it’s never enough. Even though my words fall short of expressing the glory in existing. In belonging. In recognizing the face of God in the beauty that surrounds me and weaves itself through every moment of my days.

Beauty that can roar to the surface in an explosion of goodness, but is more often gently inviting me to see. To grasp. To understand that a thousand lifetimes would fall short and yet a moment is enough to see the miraculous. To recognize the divine.

If I had one more day to live, I would live that day. Trying. Failing. But trying still. To recognize every ounce of beauty that has poured through my life to bring me to it. And every moment that will reverberate from it to some not-so-distant future. Where another beloved will try, and fail, and try yet again.