The past two years I've taken on the difficult issues in life. We all eventually reach the stage where we're no longer the trolley car clicking along - enjoying the scenery as though the ride will never end. With my prognosis I suddenly felt like a Star Wars character zooming through time with celestial lights slashing the sky. Gosh, I remember how awed I was with those special effects - and now I'm living them.

Below is a letter I gave my children the first evening of their recent visit. It's an important letter and they liked it a lot.

My words clearly addressed my intent and invited unconditional completeness and freedom from the yoke of any regrets.

The letter invited the tone to be pitch perfect... and it was. Our time together for one more day was perfectly perfect.


*****



January 2015

There's a book by Mitch Albom called for one more day. It's a complicated book with complicated emotions, but packed with the comfort of redemption. I read it in 2006 and then again after my mother died. It was difficult the second time. I desperately wanted to have just one more day with her... one more day, or hour, or minute. That's all I wanted.

So, that's what we're doing this weekend. We're spending one more day together. Remember this. It's very important that you remember this. When I'm gone - whether it's tomorrow or twenty years from now, I want you to remember this time together.

Don't invite misgivings into the moments when you'll miss me. Just don't. It's a human foible when we grieve and miss someone. We tend to think of all the *what ifs* instead of thinking about all the wonderful times spent together. Please don't do this to yourselves. You're allowed to miss me, but miss me for all the right reasons.

I've been the luckiest mother in the whole wide world because of you three amazing people. No one has been as richly blessed as I because of you.

Always remember that I loved you completely... and that I know you loved me.

Always remember this one more day we had together.